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).