As you can imagine, we have a weekly mountain of laundry at our house. I am responsible for the laundry. It is the bane of my chore list. The girls must bring their laundry down to the garage, where the appliances are located, and I load and empty the washer and dryer. They, in turn, are responsible for sorting, folding and putting away their personal items. This seems to be easily achievable in theory. Reality is a whole other tank of gas.
Things go wrong. Whites turn pink, laundered wool shrinks, rayon wrinkles, socks are never bright white after being run through the wash cycle and sometimes the unexpected occurs. For instance, puppies that everyone had to have two years ago. Don't get me wrong . . . we love our dogs, but they do take some added surveillance.
I do the laundry during the day while everyone is off and running in every direction. I have grown accustomed to having Diesel and Dakota with me. They watch my every move and follow me everywhere without missing a beat, including to the garage to do laundry. They enjoy a romp on the mountain, tunneling under the mountain, pulling treasures out of the mountain. A favorite discovery are panties.
It must be something in the human scent. They are obviously found of the Roderick aroma and have taken that to the next level. I can not tell you how many pairs they have utterly destroyed. Let's just say that VS has sent our little pooches thank you notes on several occasions. This canine activity infuriates the girls because their clothes budget takes a hit when they have to purchase new under garments and since no one sees said garments . . . well, you know.
Perhaps it's time for the girls to do their own laundry.
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