Posts Tagged ‘Dogs Attacking Sweepers’

Sparky and his beloved Loofa Dog.

This is the latest in a hopefully long series about Sparky, my Jack Russell Terrier who is with me as a result of some carnage involving chickens down in Kentucky. For the record, Spark has steadfastly denied involvement. Poultry bloodbath aside, the little canine dynamo has been a godsend and, as such, changed my life as I knew it.

A lot of dogs hate sweepers, I know that. But my sweeper, at least according to Sparky, is the Life Sucking Toy Stealing Food Grabbing Water Burgling Raging Beast from The Netherworld. You see, when I get the sweeper out all hell breaks loose. Sparky goes into attack mode, with a dash of SWAT Team tossed in for good measure. As I sweep, the sweeper is repeatedly assailed from different angles. Spark seems to enjoy going for the wheels in particular. He seems to know that if he disables the wheels the horrific entity will be rendered nonfunctional. Sparky hates the wheels.

But here’s the thing. In between these dive-bomb kamikaze blitzes are periodic raids to save all that is Sparky’s. First, a buzz-through to grab his beloved Loofa Dog from the bed. The Loofa is always first. This is accomplished by vaulting over the sweeper (this is completely unnecessary, he totally goes out of his way to do this), bounding on the bed, grabbing the Loofa, springing back off the bed (twice as far as he needs to bound by the way), back over the sweeper (again unnecessarily) before escaping into the living room where the precious Loofa Dog is tucked under a pillow on the couch. Can’t let the Deadly Sweeper Fiend from Hell suck the Loofa into its Jaws of Death, now can we? This process is repeated with his other favorite toy, the Squeaky Duck, as well as various tennis balls, pull toys, an unfinished nylabone, a pine cone he brought in from the yard, and a pair of my boxers I’d left on the bed. Thanks Spark.

But yesterday Sparky took this ritual to a new level. After he’d extricated his possessions (and one of mine) from harm and certain destruction, he grabbed his food dish and took it into the living room, where it was then placed safely behind a chair. What he did next, however, surprised even me. He has one of those gallon water jugs that filters water into his bowl, which usually lasts a few days. I glance over and he’s trying to drag it into the next room. No way the monster was going to deprive Sparky of his water. There was also no way was he going to pull that off without major spillage so I had to make an executive decision and exert my power as Head of the House.

I shut down his act. Regretfully.

Actually it was so cute to watch I felt sorry for him and moved it for him, but that’s neither here nor there. My best friend is completely spoiled not spoiled.

So as you can see, cleaning the house at my place is not as mundane a process as it is in other households. It is, in fact, a blur of furry fury.


I can’t remember what life was like without him. Thank God he killed those chickens.