Dusty loved dirt. Not just the kind in her garden, but the dust balls formed from the hairs of her shedding (and happily filthy) pointer, Dirty Hairy.Since her husband, Softy, had gone to the other world, her friends tried to fix her up with more appropriate mates. They found the best looking, most intelligent, and richest men in the territory, but none could compete with her dirt fetish.
She vacuumed incessantly. Not to clean up, but just to let the neighbors know that she was doing something about “her problem.” Yet she was careful only to use her specially fabricated holy hose so that none of her dirt would be disturbed.
Sometimes Dusty would get lonely on a Saturday night and she’d take out her flashlight and magnifying glass, and search for a corner that had picked up the best looking dust bunny. She knew that, in time, each corner would “come into its own,” and create a haven for her pleasure and all the microcosms that follow such a fertile environment.
Occasionally Dusty would stray from home and find public spaces that were particularly rich with debris. Because she was very ethical in her behavior, she would never litter. In fact, she kept a pair of shoes at the front door of her sanctuary so that none of her bunnies would leave her domain. She believed that dirt was the result of life grinding life, and that to interfere with this process was a sacrilege.
Dusty grew dirt like others grow roses. She had some weeds in pots around the house, but only because they helped the process along. And sometimes, or so she believed, they’d bring spiders, which were her best friends. Each morning Dusty would jump out of bed to inspect all of her webs. She would not only revel in their growth, but would be thrilled to see what new dirt they had captured.
Dusty would have birthday parties for her dust bunnies. She’d “bake” a cake by carefully brushing Dirty Hairy, and added to that a little “dirt” from a weed plant, and then, for frosting, a little grease from a dirty frying pan. She’d light some candles, depending on the age of the bunny, and she’d let the candles burn down to their extinction, hoping that a little soot would cover her “Sistine” ceiling.
Dusty was happy. She lived with her friends and protected them as one would their own flesh and blood. She did have an arch enemy, however, and prayed incessantly that he would stay away from her street.
“Dear Dirt God, who art on Earth, give me this day my daily dirt, and keep the city cleaning crews away, or their vehicles broken, whatever it will take.” (Dusty wasn’t so good at writing prayers, but they still functioned well to keep her neighborhood in shambles.)
Dusty even painted her windows shut to make sure that none of her favorite bunnies would run away. As long as her dirt was safe, Dusty could live happily ever after.
