self-imposed exile

Something's wrong with our dog, Ellie. I mean in her head.

About a year ago I bought a long-handled wool duster for those hard-to-reach places. Alas, it's super handy for dusting just about everything from baseboards to picture frames.

Well, Ellie doesn't get along with the duster one bit. In fact, she high-tails it whenever I pull it out.

We're stumped. I've tried looking at this from Ellie's viewpoint.

"Acccckkkkk!" she thinks. "There's that opossum that scared me the night I found my way to the humane shelter.... I'm outta here!"

Or, "ooooh, I'm sure that's the cat who scratched my nose a long time ago. I'm not taking chances!"

The color and size of the duster does strongly resemble a opossum. But for crying out loud, a 50-pound dog running from a wool duster??

Not only is Ellie terrified when she sees my duster, it seems to traumatize her for the rest of the day. In our backyard is a zip wire which is one of Ellie's potty methods. She typically will potty and come right back in. Yesterday she spent over two hours out on that leash, sleeping on the patio. I know it's the thought of the dreaded duster that keeps her outside.

Jeesh. Dogs!