when every day is bring your dog to work day

I adore my golden retriever. He is one of two beings on the planet who has loved me unconditionally for years now. (The other is my father.)

Having said that, I hate that Casey (or, more precisely, his fur) is with me wherever I go. Case in point: my 2001 trip to Italy and Greece. After nearly 5 weeks on the road, I still found dog hair in my pants, on my backpack, and in my shoes. This, despite the fact that I'd washed my clothes in three laundromats and countless hotel sinks.

Today, I wore my brand-new black v-neck sweater to work. While eating my lunch, I noticed about 15 dog hairs statically clinging to it. I rolled myself with the lintbrush after taking Casey for his morning walk and successfully de-dogged myself. Or so I thought.

I have several lint rollers at home and two at work. I keep a blanket on my car's back seat at all times, since Casey goes on a fair amount of joyrides with me. I vacuum my car and home more often than I'd like, simply to keep the great dustbunnies of golden retriever hair at bay. And I brush Casey every other day, pulling great wads of fur out of the brush each time, thinking that if only I could figure out how to knit a sweater from it, I'd be a wealthy woman.

Casey, I love you so. But my next dog will have black hair.

(I'm not naive enough to think I won't be wearing it to work, too. It just hope that my wardrobe will camouflage it better.)