He who sleeps with dogs
Shall rise with fleas.
George Herbert

The fleas on my animals were thick as mushroom clouds long before Advantage was invented. In those days all we had were flea collars and it seemed to me these devices only increased the numbers of insects tormenting my pets. Flea powder did nothing but make me sneeze. I felt very sorry for my animals and I told them so. "Fleas are like the birds and the bees," I explained. "A fact of life."

And then the little buggers attacked me.

The time for philosophy was over. I called the vet.

My veterinarian was a tall, very serious young man dedicated to his mission. His professional manner was so reassuring that I felt uplifted every time I left his office. He never failed to solve my problem and he assured me he would not misfire this time. "Not to worry," he said. "I will dip the animals in a powerful flea deterrent and give you a spray bomb for your house. After you set off the bomb, wash all your clothes and bedding. All you need to do after that is dust the dogs once a week and spray their bedding and rugs every day."

The next morning was hot, wet and dismal. The entire world floated in puddles of rain. I managed to corner the cat and stuff her, protesting loudly, into her basket. Her claws missed my jugular by a hair. I was still out of breath from our encounter as I waded out to the car with her, the dogs on leash and my opened umbrella flapping against the downpour.

I sloshed back into my home and stripped the bed. I carried the sheets and blankets to the car with mud up to my knees. I managed to crowd into the front seat beside the dripping animals and drenched laundry and buckle my safety belt. When the sopping engine finally decided to turn over, I cracked the window for air. The rain flooded over the steering wheel and obscured the rear view mirror. I drove by instinct, certain the unseen traffic would destroy us before we got to the next traffic light.

By the time we reached the vet's office, the dogs were barking non-stop and the cat sounded like a patrol car on a chase. I grabbed the dogs' leashes, picked up the cat basket and what was left of the umbrella and plunged into the vet's office. "We're here!" I shouted. "After you give the animals their flea baths, can you give Cindy (poodle) a haircut, Eileen (cat) her shots and clean Molly's (mutt) teeth? She has very bad breath.

"And do you think you can dip me, too? I'm really suffering."

The vet paused, horrified. "We don't do people," he said. "That dip would dissolve your skin and I'd lose my license. I'm sure we can manage everything else, but it will take a few hours. Come back at four o'clock. That will be $585.00 . . . in advance, please."

I left the office armed with a flea bomb, powder, new flea collars and the receptionist's umbrella. I made a soggy journey home under conditions so foggy I thought my cataracts had finally solidified. I waded into the house and set off the spray bomb. I lugged the rain soaked bedding to a Laundromat and at four o'clock, I presented myself at the vet's office. I was soaking wet and caked with slush.

The vet was dry and clean, but his composure had definitely been jarred. He looked like an accident victim in a mass collision. His face and hands were covered with bandages and open scratches. His normally sleek hair looked spiked and there were little bald spots on his reddened scalp. He had several tears in his stained lab coat and his right eye was puffy and purple. I could hear Cindy and Molly howling, but no sound from Eileen.

"Well!" I said with acid cheer. "Here I am!"

The vet cleared his throat. "Good," he said. "The dogs are ready but the cat gave me a bit of a tussle. I had to tranquilize her pretty heavily to get her in the tub. If she doesn't perk up by tomorrow, call me. I'll go get her."

When he returned, he held Eileen wrapped in a blanket. Her head bounced against her chest like a tossed rubber ball and her eyes had rolled back into her head. She looked like the morning after an all night toot. "Did you give her the vaccine?" I asked.

"My God! I forgot!" said the vet.

He carried the cat into his examining room. She lay in a stupor as he administered the medication. "Now, I'll get the dogs," said the vet.

He disappeared for a moment and returned with two hysterical animals and several bottles of salve. "The poodle didn't like the clippers," he said. "She has a nasty cut on her paw and another on her ear. Use this ointment on them. If they don't close in a few days, I'll take some stitches."

"I am terribly sorry," I said. "Did you manage to clean Molly's teeth?"

"I tried," said the vet. "But even with two of us holding her, we couldn't get into her mouth. She almost took my thumb off."

I took a close look at his hands. Sure enough, his right thumb was in a splint. "Did she hurt you?" I asked.

"You mean my thumb?" said the vet. "Oh, that's nothing. She almost blinded my assistant; got a sizeable chunk out of his nose."

"Oh dear," I gasped.

"It's all part of the job," said the vet. "Here are your dog's leashes. I'll help you out to the car."

Outside the rain had accelerated and the streets were turgid rivers of pebbles and dirt. The vet staggered a little as he helped me carry the cat basket and medications to the car. I tried to steady him, but I had the two dogs pulling at their leads in opposite directions. My progress was impeded by the billowing opened umbrella, and my vision obscured by the sheets of rains that cascaded from the sky. Neither of us could keep our balance in the mud. Somehow, we managed to open the car door and stuff the animals inside. "Well, thank you for understanding," I said to the vet as I buckled my safety belt. "I do hope you'll forgive my animals for giving you such an awful time."

The vet smiled through his bandages and waved away my apology. The rain etched rivulets down his nose and he blinked away the moisture as he spoke. "Nonsense!" he said. "It's all part of my job. Actually, this was the best day I've had all week."

When dogs and cats bite the vet
It isn’t news
Heard in a waiting room