I think I scared my sweeper to death

In a house full of birds, a sweeper is a must. Because I am loathe to keep a sweeper plugged in and visible in my living room all day, and because my sister said something to me to that effect once, I have run the gamut of cordless sweepers. Most are simply not up to the task of sucking seeds off a floor. So I finally broke down and bought the most expensive one I could find. It works really well except for one little quirk. Every once in a while, for reasons I still can’t quite fathom, it gets stopped up. Now given my age, I can understand this problem. And I have tried to deal with it, both in my GI tract and in my sweeper, in the most gentle way possible.

I took it apart and poked long straight things up and down all the places I could reach hoping to dislodge a stoppage I couldn’t see. I used knives, wooden spoons, clamps, and a flathead screwdriver trying to get down into the place where I knew the stoppage had to be.

Then I put it back together and it worked well for a day or two. Then it stared sucking again like it really didn’t have the enthusiasm to even try. I again took it apart. I again poked and prodded every site where I could imagine a blockage to be.

And finally, when this happened for the third time in a week, I did what I’d wanted to do from the beginning. I beat the sweeper’s head down on my (thankfully very resistant) Pergo floor while screaming at it to just give it up and let me get on with life.

Nothing ever did fall out of its mouth. But I know I sacred it good. Because ever since the day I tried to beat its head in on the floor, it hasn’t given me an ounce of trouble.