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A real vac-attack

John Howell
Posted 12/9/14

Few things command admiration than gadgets that get the job done. And there always is a new twist on an old gadget.

Take the corkscrew.

It started out as a simple devise: a three-inch section …

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This Side Up

A real vac-attack

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Few things command admiration than gadgets that get the job done. And there always is a new twist on an old gadget.

Take the corkscrew.

It started out as a simple devise: a three-inch section of twisted steel with a pull handle. Then someone added a moveable handle and lip that can be used as a lever to pry the stubborn cork that separates you from that glass of merlot.

But it didn’t end there. There’s the corkscrew with the base on an independent track that, with a few cranks, yanks the cork free – how ingenious.

That was until the Rabbit came along.

I’m sure there are many varieties and makes of this toy that makes uncorking bottles so easy and fun. Grip the “ears” around the bottleneck, squeeze the lever down and then, effortlessly, there’s a gentle pop followed by the smoked aroma of a Pouilly-Fuissé, a bottle of which cost more than the device to free the nectar.

But there is a gadget that provides intrigue, commands admiration and, in the case of Ollie, consummate fear: the vacuum cleaner.

Our spotted coonhound isn’t being introduced to wine. He doesn’t seem to have the nose for it. Nor has he taken an interest in corkscrews, although, if it were made of plastic, he would love chewing it.

That’s his new delight. Plastic containers, like that for cottage cheese, are dutifully licked before he sets in to the real fun, which is reducing it to scraps. Fortunately, he hasn’t developed a taste for the plastic as food. For him, it’s chewing gum that he spits out in tiny chunks. From food containers he’s moved on to more challenging conquests. The plastic dishpan disappeared from the back porch the other day. We found the remains on the lawn.

But while it’s largely made of plastic, Ollie won’t go near the vacuum. Nothing I can think of gets his attention like the vacuum. I’ll confess a fascination with vacuums, too, although of an entirely different nature. Here’s a gadget that has maintained its basic elements over the decades, yet evolved to offer more and more features and gimmicks designed to facilitate cleaning. They’ve become high-tech, as the marketers would have us believe. Some machines are equipped with multiple tools so it can go from floor machine, with rotating bristle teeth, to a soot-sucking snake. That’s the vacuum’s fascination. If you must be cleaning, at least there should be the satisfaction of having a “high tech” tool to do the job.

Ollie was having his morning nap Sunday when I pulled out the vacuum from its corner and headed downstairs for a “vac-attack.” The first task was cleaning the vacuum, which strikes me as contradictory. Wasn’t the vacuum designed to make cleaning easy?

Maybe it was the click of disconnecting the canister, or an intuitive canine sense, but I found Ollie watching nervously from the top of the stairs.

“Don’t worry, Ollie, there’s nothing to fear.”

I don’t know why dogs should understand such reassurances. Clearly, Ollie wasn’t buying it. From experience, he knew the long-necked monster could spring to life with a monotonous roar. He eyed me warily, backing slowly from the stairs.

Cleaned and ready, I plugged her in and flipped the switch. Ollie flew by me like a shot, and then, eying his nemesis, turned tail again and charged back upstairs. There wasn’t a sign of him. Perhaps he had gone back to his spot on the TV couch.

Having made the rounds on the first floor, I started up the stairs. He must have heard the approaching machine. He reappeared at the top of the stairs and, in one of those rare moments where you can read a dog’s mind, I knew his dilemma. The stairs were his escape, and yet the vacuum was climbing, one stair at a time, coming ever that much closer. He raced from one side of the landing to the other. Obviously, he had no way of knowing the cord allowed me to reach the top step and no further. The motor died. Ollie seized the moment and flew by.

He’ll probably do it all over again next time the vacuum comes to life. And then he may have figured out that it’s nothing but plastic and he will endeavor to put the grit-eating critter out of its misery.

Remember, he’s eaten lots of things, like the inside of my car. A vacuum should be nothing.

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