Dust Bunnies

Anne C. Miles > Writing > Dust Bunnies

One day Mama told Sam to clean his room. She told him to put his doohickeys away.

“Do it now,” she said. “Or the problem will grow.”

Sam didn’t want to. He crossed his arms.

And then, he looked under his bed. 

“Plenty of room,” he said. There were only two dust bunnies. They were small and fluffy.

Sam shoved all of his doohickeys under the bed. He pushed and he crammed. When all the doohickeys were jammed way under there, he threw the blanket on top. 

Perfect.

“Sam? Did you put your doohickeys away?” asked Mama. She tapped her foot.

“Yes Mama,” said Sam.  

Sam felt yucky. He looked under his bed.  The dust bunnies were bigger. 

Their teeth looked dreadful.

The next day Mama told Sam to clean his room. She told him to put his thingamabobs away. “Do it now,” she said. “Or the problem will grow.”

Sam didn’t want to. He crossed his arms. He shook his head. He stamped his feet.

And then, he looked under his bed. 

There was only a pile of doohickeys and…two BIG dustbunnies.

They gnashed their teeth at Sam.

“Plenty of room,” he said.

Sam shoved his thingamabobs under the bed. He pushed and crammed. He jostled and poked. When all the thingamabobs were jammed way under there, he threw the blanket on top, quick! 

Nothing crashed. Perfect. 

He looked under the bed. The dust bunnies were much bigger. 

Their eyes flashed yellow. Their teeth looked dreadful.

“Sam? Did you put your thingamabobs away?” asked Mama.

“Yes Mama,” said Sam.

She tapped her foot. She looked at his bed. She shook her head.

Sam felt rotten inside. He wouldn’t look under the bed again. 

That night Sam heard the dust bunnies. They rumbled. 

The next day Mama told Sam to clean his room. She told him to put all of his doodads away. “Do it now,” she said. “Or the problem will grow.”

Sam didn’t want to. He crossed his arms. He shook his head. He stamped his feet. He stuck out his tongue.

And then, he looked under his bed.

There was only a pile of doohickeys and a pile of thingamabobs and two humungous dust bunnies. The bunnies gnashed their dreadful teeth and flashed their yellow eyes at Sam. They rumbled.

Sam shoved his doodads under the bed. He pushed and crammed and prodded and poked.

But …

They didn’t really fit.

He threw the blanket on top, anyway. Perfect. 

“Sam? Did you put your doodads away?” asked Mama.

She tapped her foot. She looked at his bed. She crossed her arms.

“Yes Mama,” said Sam.

“All right,” said Mama. 

Sam felt rotten and lousy. He couldn’t reach his bed now. It was on top of all of the piles. It was much too close to the ceiling. 

There were piles of doohickeys.

There were piles of thingamabobs.

There were piles of doodads. 

The blanket couldn’t really cover them all.

 When Mama turned away, the dust bunnies rumbled. The bunnies gnashed their dreadful teeth and flashed their yellow eyes and jumped at him. 

The piles of doohickeys fell with a crash.

The piles of thingamabobs fell with a clash. 

The piles of doodads just clattered. Doodads flew everywhere. 

The dust bunnies reared up on their hind legs. They were going to EAT Sam. 

“Mama! Mama! Help!” said Sam. He yelled as loud as he could. 

“I didn’t put my doohickeys away. I didn’t put my thingamabobs away. I didn’t put my doodads away. Help!”

Mama came running with her feather duster and her broom. She used her big voice.

“Stop it! Stop right now!” she said. 

The dust bunnies stopped. 

“Don’t move,” she told the dust bunnies. 

The dust bunnies stood perfectly still. 

Mama looked at Sam and frowned. She pointed at the doohickeys. She pointed at the thingamabobs and doodads. She crossed her arms.

“Put your toys away, or the problem will grow,” said Mama.

Sam didn’t want to. He crossed his arms. He shook his head. He stamped his feet. And then, he did it anyway. 

Sam put away the pile of doohickeys. He put them on their shelves. 

The dust bunnies rumbled. But they were smaller. Their eyes were not so yellow. 

He put away the pile of thingamabobs. He put them in their boxes.

The dust bunnies were even smaller. Their teeth were not so dreadful.

He put away all of his doodads. He hung them on their hooks.

Then he swept the floor. 

Poof. The dust bunnies disappeared.

Sam felt much better. 

He threw his blanket on top of his bed. 

Perfect. 


I used to tell this story to my son to get him to clean his room. 

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