Of dog, of vacuum.

April 1, 2016

I’m sitting with the dog on my neck, a comfort for me.  Gunther is barking at…I don’t know.  Nothing, probably.

I’ve got the new vacuum in the garage, on the operating table, ready for the first cut.  The trouble?  Doesn’t suck.  Way too loud.  I had a dream.  In my dream a piece of–plywood(?)–fell in front of the vacuum cleaner exhaust, stopping the air from traveling through.  I cannot see how this could happen, but my dream might be telling me the truth.  Minus the part about the plywood, I think.  Thing is made of plastic, metal, rubber.  I can see only two screws, anywhere on the machine.  Of course the engineers like to hide screws behind rubber circles, like that.  If this intervention fails I’ll take it in for repair.

Gunther was frantic to go outdoors this morning.  He didn’t show any reluctance, although on the far side of the block he got distracted by people jogging and walking.  He remembered how to sit when I asked him to.  I can sense that his imagination is active because he glances around as though nervous.

I step over the upheavals in the sidewalk.  I think I like these evidences of tree root growth, despite the tripping hazard.  They make our old neighborhood seem, well, older.