Fur Everywhere
Sunday morning, out comes the brush,
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Fur Everywhere
The brush comes out of the drawer on Sunday morning, and one stroke in, the living room is filling up with dog. Capone thinks brushing is a game and obligingly lies flat for it. Donut sits the whole thing out from the armchair, adding a little fur of her own to the pile without getting up once. By evening the tumbleweeds are rolling under the couch, the sweater on the chair is wearing more fur than it did this morning, and the one clean patch of rug belongs to Donut.
Jangly acoustic guitar, handclaps, and a chorus built for shouting along. The verses stay down on the floor with the mess; the bridge pulls back to the low afternoon light, when the lint roller has given up and the bag is full, and Donut is still shedding on the spot she just claimed.
The chorus keeps the evidence short:
Capone and Donut, fur everywhere, One brush, one cloud, and a couch full of hair.
Press play for a sunny Saturday morning, a dog-and-cat video edit, or any afternoon that needs a little four-pawed bounce. By the last chorus nobody is sweeping.
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