I used to be diligent in my defense against the growing forces of dog hair, using a lint roller or my hands to fend off their growing numbers. My decision to wear black clothing became a signal of my inability to adapt. I loved my dog more than anything in the world and I didn’t care if people knew I had a dog by glancing at my clothes. The evidence was there for the world to see, and eventually I gave up and waved the white flag of defeat.

What started as a minor inconvenience, had soon turned into my worst nightmare. The dog hair, unsatisfied with me surrendering my clothing, became greedy and continued its relentless conquest. My frustration accumulated as I began waking up with dog hair in my mouth. I endured torture through sleep deprivation, caused by the tickling sensations when I attempted to sleep and regroup.

It wasn’t long before the itching on my face and mouth arrived. The intensity of the itching was comparable to torture and attempts to swipe away the itch were both pointless and pathetic. I soon discovered that it wasn’t the dog hair, but my own hair that was inflicting my misery.

A single hair, three times longer than any hair around it, appeared to sprout up overnight. For every hair I plucked, ten more would appear in the same spot the next day. My hairline creeped downwards towards my eyebrows as my reflection in the mirror no longer represented the hairless person of the past. The bald spot on the back of my head that had been developing over the last ten years was suddenly replaced with several inches of hair in a matter of days.

Although the disappearance of my bald spot provided a genuine sense of joy, the hair growth was the only shining light in the nightmare I couldn’t seem to wake up from. The back issues I occasionally suffered from only amplified over the following days. My hip flexors tightened at a rate that equaled my new hair growth. The pain I endured from trying to stand up straight caused me to lean forward as I walked. No matter how much I stretched, my muscles only got tighter as my body felt like it wanted to collapse into the fetal position.

While back pain prevented anything resembling a good night’s rest, it was noises that fueled my insomnia. Every little beep, bang, knock, voice, scratch, and crackle penetrated my ears. My sense of smell heightened which allowed me to recognize the spices my neighbors used in their cooking or what soap they used to scrub their bodies in the shower, but strong and foul odors assaulted my nostrils and tainted any of the appealing fragrances.

One particularly painful night, the agony became so unbearable that I decided I needed to do something. I hadn’t been able to fully stand up for days, but I managed to crawl out of bed and across the floor towards the door of my apartment. After struggling for an embarrassingly long time, I was able to get the collar on my dog before we both crawled down the stairs and onto the grass outside of my apartment complex.

For reasons I can’t explain, we both followed our noses to a nearby golf course, barely making it just before the sun came up. We found a nice spot in some bushes before we curled up next to each other and fell asleep. I am not sure how long we were asleep, but when I opened my eyes I realized I was no longer human.

We now spend much of our time roaming through the surrounding neighborhoods at night, looking for scraps of food and slurping from puddles where the sprinkler water pools. During the day we hide from erratic people who often shout gibberish while half-heartedly chasing us.

We are both laying down in the grass after wrestling and chasing each other to try and grab the stick out of each other’s mouths. It feels so cool underneath my body as I lick the tops of my paws. For the first time in my life, I have no worries. Life is good.

A bunch of seagulls just landed a hundred yards or so away, and now I am wondering which one of us is going to catch them first. My best friend and I have never felt closer.

– Alex Aldridge

Author’s Note: “The Itch” was inspired by my very real struggle with dog hair. I don’t often mind the hair, but every now and then I get overwhelmed when I feel like I wake up with hair in my mouth! I am a big fan of Kafka and the absurd, so the idea came from a genuine place of humor when thinking about the dog hair and a “what if….” situation. And yes, I do brush my dog and wash my sheets and pillow cases regularly.