Be it ever so flea ridden, there's no place like home.
Our dog sitter had mentioned that Molly was scratching a lot and was a bit out of sorts while we were gone. We spotted some fleas and put on the scary chemicals that we may have procrastinated with a bit. No go. She was still a wreck, so we synchronized our watches and planned to meet at the dog wash after Ernst's work. He got stuck in traffic, so it all came down to me. I had the joy of bringing the dog that hates all living creatures into The Honest Dog, a place where people bring in their pets to shop - because that's what people with good dogs do.
I brought along the only trick left up our sleeves - bread. Molly loves bread more than anything, even fresh meat. I got her to walk in like she was a good dog, with a piece of bread shoved in my fist. I got her to walk past the resident cat and dog, all eyes on the bread. When she saw the dog shower and stopped in her tracks, a little nibble didn't cut it, she got a whole slice as we walked past the good dog on the grooming table. As I lied to her about what a good dog she was and hooked her collar to the chain in the shower, bread crumbs were flying everywhere. She was in gluten heaven as the first sprays of water hit her, and then it was too late.
She got her flea bath. I got my flea bath. The only one who didn't get a flea bath was Ernst, who conveniently walked in while I was paying. It had all gone so well, I breathed a sigh of relief, and at that moment Molly flung her newly washed and still damp body up towards the owner's cat on the counter. The fur flew for a bit, both cat and dog got in their quick swipes and it was over. Oh, to be one of the relaxed pet owners who meander through the store with their calm canines. No, we have Molly the Pumpernickel Pup. After getting home, I took a long, hot human bubble bath - because by then I was toast.
|"Treats and Stuff!"|
|Our wet noodle.|