The Floor Was So Clean You Could Eat Off It!
For my parents 40th wedding anniversary, my gift to them was hardwood floors. Actually, that’s not true. It was fake harwood floors (like Pergo) since they’re reportedly more durable. And, with Dusty and her occasional “accidents”, we read that real hardwood floors could stain permamently after a while. This seemed the better option.
Anyway, the floors were installed a week or so ago and I was able to see the finished product this weekend when I visited my parents to celebrate (to celebrate the anniversary, not the floors). The floor looks amazing, too. It sure beats the light blue wall-to-wall carpet that was down when they bought the place.
In fact, the new floor makes the place look much larger (it didn’t hurt that they were forced to purge and move things in advance of the installation). I couldn’t be happier with the results (and neither could they).
However, I suspect that Dusty isn’t too pleased. She used to run from the living room to the sliding glass doors off the dining room whenever she saw a person (or dog or squirrel or bird or mosquito…you get the picture) walk by the woods behind their place. But now she runs and can’t stop…and smashes into the glass.
Similarly, she occasionally loses her grip when she tries jumping on the sofa to sit with you…and ends up leaping face first into the front of the sofa. The poor thing. Deflated, she’ll sit, straighten herself back up, and look at you pathetically until you pick her up.
But she’ll get used to it. I mean, when she lived with me and Matt we had hardwood floors and she adapted. Actually, that is partially how she got her name: Dusty. She would run and slide under the sofa and come out the other side with dust bunnies attached to her. She was going to be called either Dusty or Zwiffer.
And the only reason Dusty won out was because Matt and I were on a Dusty Springfield kick at the time.
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Pardon me while I laugh hysterically at that image. HILARIOUS. Stick a broom handle in her butt and change the name to Swiffer, I say.
Kidding… I’m kidding… but I did find this wildly funny.
So, is Dusty a dog or a cat? A cat with affronted dignity (particularly after crashing into a glass door, etc.) is particularly funny to watch…note, that this is not an anti-cat statement – I’m very pro-cat, though allergic. I’m suspecting the slower adaptability suggests dog, however – a cat, by now, woulda likely learned to approach the sofa from a different angle or higher vantage point or such…
Dusty is, in fact, a dog. A spoiled little Shih Tzu with a heart of gold.
And a brain the size of a cuticle.
Yeah, I’ve got a cuticle-sized brain dog me-self and if you keep her nails short she can get a little extra grippage when she rounds the corners.
That’s good to know! Thanks for the tip, Golden.
And when the hell are we reuniting?