(This is a make-up post from night before last. I have to keep it short because those it’s addressed to are illiterate.)
Dear Toby, Simon, Sarge, Molly, Rodeo, Indy, Lenore, Charley, Lily, Colt, Tyson, Whiskey, Biscuit, and any others whose names temporarily elude me:
I can feel your pain. It’s not just the itching, it’s the embarrassment, the degradation.
Of course you’re sensitive to what others may think, but I’m positive they don’t just assume it’s due to your personal hygiene Of course, that could stand some improvement. (As could the bad breath some of you suffer from. You know who you are.)
Be candid with your veterinarian. There are always new and more effective products coming on the market. You just haven’t found the right one yet.
In the meantime, I want to ease the hurt and humiliation if I can. My favorite poem may offer some relief. I offer it here. Please take it to heart and know that you are not alone.
POEM ON THE ANTIQUITY OF FLEAS
by Ogden Nash
Adam
Had ‘em.
I’m hoping in the blogs I’ll see
Pictures of at least one flea
That bothers most of friendly pets
In real life they are seen by vets.
Toby, Simon, Sarge, and Molly,
They just sound so fun and jolly.
Rodeo, Indy, Lenore, and Charley,
Could these perhaps be a little gnarly?
What about Lily, Colt, and Tyson?
Whiskey and Biscuit? Full of fun?
Names do only make us imagine.
Pictures, Pat, will make you win.