It Runs in the Family

My pets have also adopted this anti-appliance technopha throughout the years. The family basset hound, Agatha (who amazingly lived a long life), had a grudge against the microwave and all kitchen appliances. You knew when Mom was cooking from anywhere in the neighborhood: Woof, woof... arrrooof!
My first cat, Calypso, had quite an affinity for cords and wires. Every lamp in my first apartment had been spliced and re-spliced many times over. But, when she taught the roommate's cat her tricks, Crazy the cat electrocuted herself at my first computer. Thankfully, it was not a fatal incident. But, it was enough to earn her her name.
Even before that, my two rather un-gifted pet rats Rosencrantz and Guildenstern escaped only to meet unfortunate fates. Oh, it’s too heinous to continue….

Today, Emma, my old mutt, has a hatred for all noisemaking appliances. (She did try to warn me about that hand mixer). Her arch enemy, as with many dogs, is the vacuum cleaner. Unlike other dogs she also attacks brooms, mops, and all things that slide along the floor. (We think this has something to do with the territorial terrier trials alongside the fact that she rides pretty low to the ground). Any floor cleaning implement in my home carries heavy battle scars.

But, the vacuum cleaner is her nemesis. When we first moved to the Midwest, she stayed with my family while I looked for an apartment. One afternoon, my mother took a break from vacuuming to make lunch – and left the vacuum out on the second floor landing. When my mother returned to the vacuum, she found teeth marks in the metal canister and only the remnants of the shredded hoses. Emma had caught her enemy at sleep and mauled it. (She is consequently not allowed back in my parents' home). When I first moved into this apartment, the closet door in which I keep the vacuum did not lock. Before I was able to convince the landlord this was necessary to fix (another blog entry there), she figured out how to enter the vacuum cleaner's lair and extract the enemy for a full attack. I came home from my first day at Washburn to find that the 20-lb terrier had managed to drag the entire vacuum cleaner out into the middle of the living room and down the hallway towards the bedroom – where she shredded each hose, attachment and seal.

Nowadays, she is a stealth bomber and expert assassin. If I do not get someone to walk her while I vacuum, no amount of one-legged vacuuming (one leg extended towards dog at all times, usually punctuated by a flapping arm) can keep her at bay. She can dive bomb that sucker and yank a seal out before I can blink. She flies (not an easy feat for such a stout beast) from around chairs and tables and seemingly bounces off the cleaner – with pieces clenched in her jaw. Crafty mutt…

So, today when I came home, I was disheartened to find the pantry door ajar (this is where I keep not only food items, but the brooms, mop, and other cleaning apparati). Fearfully, I walked forward. Spunky McMop (an aluminum handled mop gifted to me by my ex who so named the mop in hopes of thwarting attacks) had joined the ranks of the wounded. Pieces of Spunky's replaceable mop head were strewn from one end of the apartment to the other. But, Spunky had stood his ground. His green metal body and "important parts" were all in tact (albeit a few teeth grooves). Go, Spunky! Finally, something that can withstand Emma.