I've adored my chocolate lab for all 9 years of our life together. She is calm and patient, sweet and quiet. Last week, after a $350 trip to the vet, I was introduced to a product called K9 Advantage for, what else, FLEAS. In all 9 years of our dog/owner life together, never once have I used a flea product on her.
I raced home, applied the medicine and began scouring my somewhat clean home for evidence of the problem. It wasn't until the following morning, on moving a load of laundry off my bedroom floor that I noticed a small black bug (smaller than an ant) on a white hand towel. When I reached for it it shot into the air. What was that?!
Naive idiot of Earth, meet Ctenophalides Canis, the common dog flea.
I crawled on my hands and knees around the house in search of more evidence. When I stood up, I discovered I had been scraping the skin off my stomach due to a cluster of red raised bites around my belly button. I peeled the sheets off the beds to find three fleas IN MY BED! Those F&*$%ERS were sleeping with me?!?!
Having never experienced the joys of flea infestation before, I looked it up on the internet and educated myself in flea battle. I burned up the vacuum cleaner in the first three days. I accumulated so much laundry on my garage floor it's spilling out into the yard. I blew through three cans of overpriced RAID Flea killer. With these toxic levels in my house, I'm guaranteed the arrival of a three legged grandchild in my future. The pest control guy is scheduled for tomorrow. The carpet cleaners are here now. I already spent the kids' college fund on. laundry detergent and bug bombs.
When I arrived at kindergarten today, scratch scratch, my head tingled with more thoughts of where those damned itchy buggers could have gotten. I was corralled by a mom the minute I stepped into the classroom, "Do you recall getting that Lice Exposure Warning last month in the kids' cubbies?" she asked. I scratched my head and nodded. I had checked Shelby's scalp for 2 weeks after that news as was suggested. She continued, "Well, we got lice again this week. So you might want to check your kids out again."
My head was on fire with itchiness. It was all I could do run out of there with my girls in tow and head straight to the nearest drugstore for more battle weapons. Because that's what I must have: LICE. I haven't stopped itching my entire body since the flea infestation. And now, in addition to having fleas, I HAVE LICE.
And just like that,I formed a new category in my itchy head, where both the dog and kindergarten have fallen, labeled, "THINGS I USED TO LOVE WHICH HAVE RECENTLY BROUGHT ME IMMENSE ITCHY FRUSTRATION."
Not knowing exactly what I was looking for (apparently, I was raised in a bubble), I took the precautionary road and pulled into the Rite Aid parking lot. Scratch, scratch. I trudged through the store followed by a giant black cloud looming over my head. It had red flashing lights on it that blared, "WOMAN DEFEATED".
Armed with bottles of RID and a determination known only among professional athletes and hospital janitors, I rinsed, combed and rinsed both my daughters heads. I raced through the house spraying more toxic potions (now they'll be four legged cyclops grand kids, for sure) and peeling every piece of fabric out of the house to join the rest of our everythings on the garage floor. Where's that "Official Laundry Service" when you need 'em?
John arrived in time to comb the scalp clean off my head.
And when he finished, he looked me directly in my red, itchy, defeated eyes and said, "Babe, I didn't see anything that looked like lice."
I raced home, applied the medicine and began scouring my somewhat clean home for evidence of the problem. It wasn't until the following morning, on moving a load of laundry off my bedroom floor that I noticed a small black bug (smaller than an ant) on a white hand towel. When I reached for it it shot into the air. What was that?!
Naive idiot of Earth, meet Ctenophalides Canis, the common dog flea.
I crawled on my hands and knees around the house in search of more evidence. When I stood up, I discovered I had been scraping the skin off my stomach due to a cluster of red raised bites around my belly button. I peeled the sheets off the beds to find three fleas IN MY BED! Those F&*$%ERS were sleeping with me?!?!
Having never experienced the joys of flea infestation before, I looked it up on the internet and educated myself in flea battle. I burned up the vacuum cleaner in the first three days. I accumulated so much laundry on my garage floor it's spilling out into the yard. I blew through three cans of overpriced RAID Flea killer. With these toxic levels in my house, I'm guaranteed the arrival of a three legged grandchild in my future. The pest control guy is scheduled for tomorrow. The carpet cleaners are here now. I already spent the kids' college fund on. laundry detergent and bug bombs.
When I arrived at kindergarten today, scratch scratch, my head tingled with more thoughts of where those damned itchy buggers could have gotten. I was corralled by a mom the minute I stepped into the classroom, "Do you recall getting that Lice Exposure Warning last month in the kids' cubbies?" she asked. I scratched my head and nodded. I had checked Shelby's scalp for 2 weeks after that news as was suggested. She continued, "Well, we got lice again this week. So you might want to check your kids out again."
My head was on fire with itchiness. It was all I could do run out of there with my girls in tow and head straight to the nearest drugstore for more battle weapons. Because that's what I must have: LICE. I haven't stopped itching my entire body since the flea infestation. And now, in addition to having fleas, I HAVE LICE.
And just like that,I formed a new category in my itchy head, where both the dog and kindergarten have fallen, labeled, "THINGS I USED TO LOVE WHICH HAVE RECENTLY BROUGHT ME IMMENSE ITCHY FRUSTRATION."
Not knowing exactly what I was looking for (apparently, I was raised in a bubble), I took the precautionary road and pulled into the Rite Aid parking lot. Scratch, scratch. I trudged through the store followed by a giant black cloud looming over my head. It had red flashing lights on it that blared, "WOMAN DEFEATED".
Armed with bottles of RID and a determination known only among professional athletes and hospital janitors, I rinsed, combed and rinsed both my daughters heads. I raced through the house spraying more toxic potions (now they'll be four legged cyclops grand kids, for sure) and peeling every piece of fabric out of the house to join the rest of our everythings on the garage floor. Where's that "Official Laundry Service" when you need 'em?
John arrived in time to comb the scalp clean off my head.
And when he finished, he looked me directly in my red, itchy, defeated eyes and said, "Babe, I didn't see anything that looked like lice."
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