I have an embarrassing confession. I eat dog hair.
But wait. It’s not what you think. I am merely a victim of an infestation of the fur ball kind.
You see, I am the proud owner of two dogs. Like many a pet owner, I’ve tried everything in my might to fight the fur – a Furminator, constant sweeping and “swiffing,” oil supplements, lint rollers and pet vacs – but my dogs just won’t stop leaving remnants of their coats everywhere they go.
So what’s on the menu tonight? How about a chicken breast with a side of Rosie hair? Maybe I’ll complement it with a Daisy hair baked potato.
Dog hair kind of tickles as it starts going down your throat. As you begin to swallow, you know something isn’t quite right, but it’s too late. If you’re lucky it will just go right down with the rest of the food. If you’re not, it’ll get stuck there, ever-so-lightly scratching your throat. Or maybe you can cough it back up. In the end, it’s just a piece of hair. It won’t kill you. But there is something unnerving about it.
No matter what I do, dog hair is always falling off of me. And I’m aware that it appears gross to others. But hey, I have two dogs and yeah, I like to wear fleece. And, um, yeah I have two dogs. And they jump all over me. And we cuddle. And they sleep in my bed.
And with dog hair all over me, it’s kind of always floating around the air surrounding my body. Kind of like a dog hair aura, if you will.
Sometimes my dog hair force field is disrupted and a piece finds its way into something I’m preparing to eat. Sometimes I don’t even notice until I’m actually eating.
My biggest fear is that I will someday cook something for someone else and a wayward hair will make it onto the menu. I can only imagine the look on their face as they discover an inch-long strand of canine hair in my green bean casserole or buttery snickerdoodles.
While I’d like to say my mouth is the only wayward destination for my pets’ hair, I also once found a single black Daisy hair inside my belly button. Actually, I find them all the time. And that kind of grosses me out. I mean, I want to be close to my pets, but not that close. But pet owners, you know the struggle is real, right?
I guess I’ve kind of come to terms with the fact that I shall never own a black shirt that doesn’t have yellow Rosie hair on it. Or a white shirt without black Daisy hair. Or clean fleece at all, ever. But I’ll continue to live in fear of those hairs making their way into my mouth, or worse yet, the mouths of my friends and family.