Pest control

Eska and the apartment have been de-flead. Or, well, they've withstood the first round of de-fleaing: more (surely) to come next week around this time.

I'd already administered her another dose of Frontline Advantix late last week, and hoped that might be the end of it. When I found two more fleas rummaging through her belly fur this morning, I knew I had to take the next step: flea-bath for my girl.

I had already purchased a whole array of products for the task - shampoo, household upholstery spray, flea collar - but hoped I might not, in the end, have to use them. Eska was not happy with me when I lured her into the tub with a cookie only to lather her up with, judging by its smell, what could only be an *uncomfortable* hygienic product. She did pretty well all things considered: she didn't whimper until the very end, and even then, she kept her sobs to a bare minimum. She didn't even go her typical crazy when I dried her and let her out of the bathroom.

My T-shirt didn't do as well: I walked away from the adventure more soaked than she.

Most importantly, though, my newly jaded (Jade is the new Black, I am told) fingernails also emerged unscathed from the ordeal. I was concerned they might not, but O.P.I. stands the test again.

While she sat - voluntarily - in her crate, I flea-proofed the rest of the apartment with Hartz' magical spray: both couches, the carpet, my bedding, and hers have all been shot with the stuff in an attempt to rid us (perhaps it is too ambitious to say "for good", but realistically, at least for now) of our unwelcome visitors.

Who even knows how she got them to begin with? I mean, she doesn't play with many other dogs, and even when she does, her bouts are infrequent and short-lived. I suppose it only takes a second for the critters to jump from one coat to another. Still. I prefer blaming the rodents invading my apartment that my landlord continues to neglect. They carry the very devil with them, it's undeniably true.

She is whining now, because for the next 35 minutes, she has to sit still where she is, as any other surface she'd be likely to sit on is being treated.

I know, my girl, and I'm sorry, but it's for your own good (says Dora).

Fan Mail

I took Eska out this morning, as I always do, crossed the street and walked up Cresmont, as I always do, scooped around to campus, as I sometimes do - a not unusual route. As we prepared to cross the street at the corner of 31st and Wyman Park Drive, a motorist slowed down at the cross-walk and rolled down his window.

"Hi there! I know you from Howl," he said. I remembered seeing him there and asking him for dieting tips for my girl. I remember him being quite helpful.

"Hi!" was all I managed to say. The sun was shining in my face and all around his head. We were having a Roma Downey moment, even.

"I just wanted to say, you've got to be the best dog-owner in this neighbourhood. I see the two of you EVERYWHERE - you walk that dog like crazy, and she seems really happy for it. I just wanted to let you know ..."

Floored. Completely. I could barely get out a "thanks! It's kind of you to notice" let alone a "you're really cute and your dieting tips are working - thanks for the help!"

But more importantly: yo, I'm a celebrity.

I smiled the rest of the way home. Eska did, too.

Renamed

Ten points to the first person who can correctly "translate" Eska's new name (this week).

Are you ready for it?

Here it is:

Zoeesha Maa-goo The-Girl

(hint: the first two names each translate into two English words)

Best of luck.

Dieting

As it turns out, dieting is good both for the budget (two weeks later, Eska is still working through a 5-lb bag of Taste of the Wild it usually took her about a week to devour entirely) and for the manners.

Natbat stayed with me in Baltimore this past week and insisted that no table scraps be part of Eska's diet. Not relying on human food, she said, would make my girl a more peaceful eater and would allow me better to appreciate my meals.

She was right. Admittedly, it was difficult, in the first few days, to avoid the increasingly tremulous barks at the dinner table that screamed, "bitch, where's my steak?" and "how come I don't get any spinach." Now that she's gotten used to having hard-asses around, my girl seems to have calmed down in the food department a little. She even begs less than she did a week ago.

I'm not sure how long this good behaviour will last. The best thing about dieting (which neither Natbat nor I anticipated), however, was the effect it would have on Eska's immediate social skills: today, she calmly lay down beside me while I heated up - and didn't share - leftover rice for lunch. She didn't even whine when I didn't give her any.

My poor little baby shoo - she knows I don't like to eat alone. She just wanted to keep the ma company.

Or, more likely, she hoped the ma would change her mind and be swayed by the baby's excellent disposition.

The worst thing about dieting is the hunger. Yesterday, Eska fished out a stale loaf of bread from the garbage while I put Auntie Natbat in a cab to Penn Station. She didn't even bother knocking the whole thing over as she usually does: she went straight for the goods. Poor baby on her poor empty stomach.

Whatever. As long as these eating habits stay good for my wallet, we're sticking with them.

Husky

My girl is officially obese. My suspicion was confirmed today at the Falls Animal Hospital -- she has gone from 47lbs (more or less) in December to a whopping 62lbs now!

She could stand to lose approximately 10lbs, I was told.

I have already halved her daily dose of food and scaled snacks and treats back to the very bare minimum. Next step: put her on a Science Diet (or something like it), and increase her daily exercise.

Oy.

My goal is to get her back down to 50-55lbs by Christmas. I think I can do it. You can help.

Meanwhile, I nearly had to pay an exorbitant emergency fee at the veterinary clinic today, because the cab I called at 9.30am only showed up at my house (8 phone calls and three VERY angry conversations with three separate "managers" later) at 10.15 - 15 minutes PAST my appointment time (which, if you arrive at late by 30 minutes or more, you lose or have to pay extra to be seen immediately).

I got there at 10.34, but I think the (probably lesbian)vet had a crush on me and didn't charge me the surplus. Sweet.

Digression:

My Indian cab driver could barely speak a word of English. Originally, he went to pick me up at 603 Club Road (the last location from which I'd called a cab, though NOT the address I gave them over the phone this morning). When I asked the taxi service to check the whereabouts of my cab, they discovered him there and rerouted him to my address. Only, by the time he got there, I had already moved on and was trying to hail a cab several blocks away. A call from the manager told me to loop back - my cab would be waiting for me at my doorstep. Except, SURPRISE! When I got there, it was already gone. Livid, I eventually tracked him down on the corner of 29th and Howard, a block or so from where he was SUPPOSED to be and was prepared to deal with him calmly, until he had the nerve to tell me to put my dog ON THE FLOOR OF THE TAXI.

THAT'S when I lost my shit and told him he really wasn't in any position to be making any kind of demands right now, and that if he didn't start moving to get me to my final destination immediately, I'd happily talk to his manager - on the line - FOR him, though I probably wouldn't deal with the situation in a way he'd appreciate. He asked me where I wanted to go, and though I repeated the address AND the location AND the easiest way to get there 3 TIMES, he still stopped A HIGHWAY SHORT and asked me if I wanted to get out at a doggie spa and boutique.

Why would I have asked for 6314 Falls Road, Animal Hospital, all the way over the overpass, if I wanted this CLOSED doggie spa and boutique?

Tu me niaises-tu?

"No, sir. Does this look like the Animal Hospital to you? This is 5912 Falls Road. You have a while to go before 6314, unless I am counting wrong."

The total of the cab ride was $15.60. I gave him a $20 bill. When he handed me $3.00 and started fishing in his pockets for change, I nearly lost my shit again.

me: $4.40 is what you owe me, sir.

cabbie: No. $1 charge for call.

me: No, sir. You will give me that $1.

cabbie: No. Is rule. Call charge $1.

me: Sir, I can sit here all day if you'd like. I'm not leaving without my full change.

He handed over the extra dollar, and Eska and I hopped out.

I walked the 1.5 hours home (sometimes along the highway) in the rain. Fuck Checker Cab, man. They have lost my patronage forever.

The good news is, Eska kept up on the walk home and didn't even stop once to rest. Maybe she's not as out of shape as I have made her out to be.