Of course, all of this doing-nothing-and-making-your-husband-do-everything can have its downsides. Your husband can actually start to believe that you can't do any of this stuff (when really you're just being nice and pandering to his macho self-image, but whatever :). Case in point, the other day I was going to go for a walk with my mother-in-law, Marion, and I said to Derek, "I'm taking Linus." Derek stopped what he was doing and gave me an unflatteringly nervous look. "Are you sure?" he said. That's right. My husband thought I was incapable of walking my own dog. So of course I ranted at him and complained to Marion and off she, the dog, and I went. And we were fine. I mean, maybe I did let him off leash on a no-off-leash path, because he was pulling on my arm too hard, and maybe I did make poor Marion stop every five minutes to put him back on the leash whenever someone was coming. Maybe I continually interrupted our conversation by shouting "LINUS!" or "Heel!" as if I had dog-owner's Turrets syndrome. But the point is, I managed.
(There I am having trouble walking Linus)
I had drug Derek out on a walk after he had worked a long and exhausting day, because our gigantic dog needed some exercise. We went to this wetlands conservation trail that is very pretty and was completely abandoned. We were walking along, having one of those red-flag perfect moments, with Linus trotting through long grasses looking like his movie star doppelganger (Lassie, of course). We were over halfway back when Derek noticed a tick on his sock. He began to freak out a little bit and...I laughed at him. (I'm ashamed to say, considering what happened.) Normally I'm horrified of ticks. But at that moment, I was just being stupid like one of those unsuspecting girls in a horror flick. I think we made Linus get out of the grass by then and hurried back to our car. We searched ourselves and Linus carefully (I think we found about ten on him at that point...and keep in mind that when I say we I mean Derek, because obviously there was no way I was going to willingly touch a tick). We drove home, and I was still all chipper, blissfully and ditzily unaware of the waking nightmare that was about to become my life. We were about to go to sleep that night, and I turned on the light I think because Derek found a tick on his neck. There were ticks everywhere. On our walls, in our bed, on the floor, and as time would tell still on the dog.
Let me reassure my readers that Linus is on a good flea and tick medication, and always has been. We used to live in Tennessee, which, as anyone who has ever lived there knows, is where ticks hang out. Ticks are a perpetual fear in the south. In the north, they're a laughing matter, as far as I'm concerned. Well, disaster strikes when you're least expecting it, usually. Even though Linus was banned from our room for awhile, we kept finding ticks, for days. Oh, and our car? Also a tomb of horror. Even after Derek vacuumed and sprayed it, a tick would fall on my shoulder and I would be trapped in that cab of the truck with no where to run. I refused to ride in the car for a good week, I think. Oh, and we bathed Linus. "They'll drown!" I insisted. Well, no ticks drowned and none fell off, either, despite his body being submerged underwater. Days afterword, I kept finding ticks crawling on Linus (but not biting) or hanging out on the walls. I slept, cocooned tightly in blankets and horrified. Finally, after a couple of days of no tick sightings, while lulled into a false sense of security, two final ticks made their last stand by crawling onto Linus' nose and biting below his eye. After awhile, I put on my husband's robe because I thought the war of the ticks was over, but when I took it off I brushed a tick off my back. That might have been as long as a month after the tick infestation began.
Understandably, I am mentally and emotionally scarred from that experience. Every time I feel the teensiest tingle in my skin, I jump and start pawing at the spot in paranoia. Honestly, though, I think just below thirty ticks is the maximum amount of ticks that one dog can bring into the house at one time. Even a long-haired dog. So we should be safe. Now, Derek doesn't allow Linus to go in tall grass. It was rather dumb of us to let him do so in a marshy area, but hey, live and learn, right? We are leaving to go camping tomorrow, and we'll be extra vigilant in the tick-department. Last time we went camping with Linus, he chewed on a stick, got his gum infected, developed a tennis-ball sized lump beneath his lip, and $200 later, was fit as a fiddle again. So I'll be trying to keep all the sticks in the great outdoors away from our high-maintenance, but entirely worth it, dog.
(I'm going camping with these lovely people, my in-laws. Derek and I are at the top of the photo.)
Oh, and if you have a funny (or horrifying, or sweet, for that matter) pet story to tell, do share!
3 comments:
I love your writings! The tick story is really my worst nightmare. Gave me the shivers just reading about it.. Ugh!
Blakely
Aww thanks favoritepersonever! :D Yeah, hopefully I haven't passed on the tick paranoia...haha. Oh since you love Casey so much, I wanted to tell you that I wrote a little bit about her at the bottom of the "About Us" page: http://thatladywiththedog.blogspot.com/p/about-us.html
Because I know how you need your Pooka fix.
cold shivers...
Post a Comment