A Flea

Yesterday I found a flea on Gracie.

A flea.

A flea.

One of the most annoying things ever. I had to go to the store and buy flea shampoo, prep the bathroom and torture my dog. For A. Single. Flea.

Gracie’s hatred of baths penetrates to the deepest core of her being. Therefore she is highly skilled in detecting when a bath is imminent.

I don’t have to say a word. She just knows. 

Her instinctual response: I must run!

See, I’m on the bed. I can’t take a bath right now. I’m really busy. 

After I chase her off the bed –

See, I’m in the closet. I really just need some alone time. Come back never. 

I roust her from the closet. She runs back to the bed. This we repeat several times until finally:

I must wedge myself into the farthest corner of the bed! Oh – there seems to be a headboard under my butt.  Am I stuck? OK…what’s my next move?

By the way, this is the dog – this dog who has to be dragged off the bed and into the bathtub using her collar and leash – this is the dog who has nearly killed me trying to plunge over a 5-foot bank into a sluggish trickle of putrescent runoff water. This is the dog who follows me into the bathroom every morning to sniff inside the tub.

Why she does this remains a mystery, but it is an integral part of our daily routine.

Anyway. Last night’s bath was particularly torturous for Gracie because the flea shampoo had to sit for 5 minutes before being rinsed out. This meant that I sat on the toilet seat across from her holding forth on the benefits of flea shampoo, and how much better she would feel when that one flea was dead, and how sometimes in life we have to do things we don’t like, but it builds character.

Gracie’s translation: I’m making you stand soaking wet in this strange ceramic container for no good reason. The end.

I may have attempted to give Gracie a mohawk while the shampoo soaked.

The floor…the floor…the floor is mere inches away…

Are we done yet? Please? Can I get out now? Please? Please?

Please? Please? Please? Please? Please?

When finally I released my hostage, she rampaged joyfully through the apartment!

I’m FREE!! I’m FREE!! 

She doused the bathroom! She dried herself off on the carpet! She did a flying leap over my knee (a trick she had hitherto refused to perform)!! She snapped tiny treats out of the air! Then she sprawled on the bed and didn’t move for hours, exhausted from the trauma of bath time.

That flea better be dead.