Fun With Fleas

When I was little there was this drunk old man that lived in a clubhouse near us. If we got on his nerves he always threatened to put us on his shit list. I'm an animal lover. Dogs, cats, marsupials of all kinds. There are a few animals that are firmly on my shit list.

Fleas are #1 on my shit list. Above flies, gars, & those ugly Chinese Crested dogs. When we came back from camping with an extra cat, we also came home with extra fleas. Fortunately, I think fleas know how I feel. They leave me alone. Like I'm made out of flea kryptonite. Keith, on the other hand, must be made out of flea-nip. They ignore me completely. As far as I know they ignore Deana, too.

Keith, they love. His ankles look like he has measles. He's always singing the blues about being eaten alive. We have to vacuum. Every Day! And I think if we give the dogs another bath they're going to run away & join the flealess relocation program.

Today Keith went to the store & bought a different kind of flea drops. Whatever we had before wasn't working at all. Hopefully this will get rid of the little bloodsuckers.

I remember when we lived up on the hill we ended up with a really bad infestation down in the basement somehow. I still don't know how we ended up with a basement full of fleas but nothing upstairs. I got really good at killing fleas. I would put on shorts then walk downstairs to do laundry. Throw the clothes in the wash then pick fleas off my legs until I couldn't stand it anymore then spray my legs with cat flea spray & run back upstairs. I don't know why I didn't bypass that middle step & go straight from throwing clothes in the machine then go nuclear with the cat spray, but on the bright side now I can catch fleas with my bare hands.

It's a talent.