Dog allergy season is upon us. I know this because I have spent the last several weeks shoveling dog fur.
Yes, dog fur. If you have a dog and your dog is not entirely bald, you know what I mean. This time of year, they shed in blizzards. Streams of hair cascading off your animal. They sit in their bed scratching and gnawing while the hair swirls in every direction. It creates a condition that Northerners refer to as a “white-out.”
A fur-pocalypse
Science needs to find the answer to this most important question: Where does it all come from? And yes, I know: From my dog. But it doesn’t add up – the math of it. Consider this: We have one dog. She weighs approximately 45 pounds. She is considered a medium-size dog. Yet, at least twice a week we sweep up a pile of fur that could cover the entirety of an overweight hippo. There would even be extra for a fancy mustache. The fur collected weighs twice my dog.
Biologically, how can an animal produce that much? It’s like she is a fur-shedding factory. I keep checking her expecting to find large bald patches or spots where it’s thinned out from her incessant scratching. Buther coat remains full and lush. Thick. And as I pet her, more comes off in my hand.
“You can keep that,” her face seems to say. “I’ll make more.”
And does she ever. It keeps coming, and she keeps spreading it around the house. I wonder if it’s multiplying on its own. Dividing like cells. The hair-equivalent of cancer. Or some alien species that only looks like hair, but has begun its great Earth invasion from the coat of my dog.
It happens every year. Could be allergies. Could be fleas in the yard. Could be it’s just a change of wardrobe. Time to move from her bulky winter coat to her summer linens. Are dogs known to be fashionistas?
We try different things with her: brushing, special shampoos, yoga, doggie meditation. I once considered giving her a shot of whiskey to calm her nerves. But I decided it was better spent on me.
It gets nerve-racking. All the scratching and chewing. It can be enough to drive you crazy. To get you wound up and frustrated. Even upset with your K-9.
But you can’t yell at your dog. Er … that’s not true. You DO yell at your dog. “What’s wrong with you? Stop scratching! You’re a freak of nature, you weird hair factory!” What I mean to say is, you SHOULDN’T yell at your dog. It’s not her fault. She’s itchy. She feels the need to gnaw on herself. And make really disgusting noises while doing it. You can’t blame her if the noises are making you physically ill.
Besides, when you do yell at your dog, she just stares at you. Kind of annoyed. Because this outburst caused her to stop gnawing. My dog will give me a look that says, “HEY! Pipe down, for goodness sake. Can’t you see all that noise you’re making is keeping me from scratching!?! Sheesh!”
My dog can get pretty into her scratching and chewing. Neurotic even. If you walked in to my house and saw her chewing at an itch, you might even think she is devouring part of her body. That’s how into it she gets. You would likely scream, “Self-cannibal!!!” and I imagine you would run from the house. (You would unfortunately slip and fall on one of the dog-hair tumbleweeds as you escaped.)
Her chewing can be a gruesome and grizzly scene. Contorted into some hideous, unfathomable position, it usually involves a body part no one wants to see jutting up into your field of vision. She attacks the spot with reckless abandon. Like she’s possessed by the Devil.
And the sounds! Oh, the horrible, awful sounds. The gnawing. The slurping and snorting. The chewing and teeth chattering. She gets her nose pressed so deep into a leg pit that she can’t breath. So, she draws in strained, muffled gulps of air that sound like an asthmatic dragon snoring … and spitting.
Gnaw, slurp, gasp, pffft. Gnaw, slurp, gasp, hack. On and on it goes like this.
But we’re trying to be understanding. Trying out a new shampoo for itching – it seems to be helping. And making extra rounds with the broom and vacuum. Shedding season can’t last forever. It never does. Unless this really is the start of an alien invasion. In which case, I’ll just keep shoveling fur and hope for the best.