Cato's Republic

I've got fleas

I noticed them on my thigh last night. They were bouncing up and down as if they were testing my flesh before they bit it I was aware of them all night long (they are almost as bad as the cat!). I got up at 4:14 am to wash the cat blanket, which I had neglected to wash for a year and a half. It made the sink water brown. I am sure that is where they are living and now I'm afraid they have moved out more broadly into my house. I'm afraid I am plagued as I can feel them now at work sitting at my desk writing to you. It is winter! There should be no fleas. But the man at the pet store told me fleas are "epidemic this year!"

I remember once, when I lived in Berkeley in a little hole-in-the-wall on Milvia, I was eaten alive by fleas. I could not sleep at night because there were so many of them. My neighbor had a dog and wouldn't take care of the fleas. I bombed my room, but it did nothing. I began to drink a half-gallon of red wine at night and would smear Cutter's all over my body before I could sleep comfortably. I tried to get my landlandy to spray the whole house, but she was an alcoholic, who wore her hat (with wig attached) backwards and sometimes her dress too. She could not understand I was being eaten alive by fleas because her brain was so rotted by alcohol. She would show up at all hours of the night to find out what I was up to -- as if I was up to anything. What I was trying to do was survive the fleas.

Fast forward 30 years later AND I've go the same landlandy! But, of course, she's not the same, just a smilar personality. Seems like I attract the same personalities over and over, but right now I don't have time for therapy, I've got to get rid of the fleas before I scratch myself to death along with the cat.

What to do about fleas.

The illustrations is a scanning electron micrograph of a flea. The image is provided by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and is in the public domain.

Against the cold

On weekends, during the winter, I blanket about 30 horses. I do this morning and evening. Each horse has a different personality shaped by genetics, breed, handling, the weather and time of day.

Happy is a Thoroughbred that bites -- a common characteristic of a race horses. I have to dance around him so he won’t grab me and haul me around by my jacket. He was a big stakes winner and a former stallion that was gelded (neutered) at a late age, so he can be aggressive. When I blanket him I keep up a patter of affectionate abuse, which keeps him just on this side of well-behaved.

Falconry is a big black warmblood with an uncertain temperment. Anything will set him off. He has dumped his owner many times. Being unpredictable, he needs an even tempered rider to see him through this personality quirk. One of his ancestors was sensitive. I know several offspring of this particular grandsire and they have similar personalities. Early in our relationship, he was so upset by being blanketed, he would turn his butt to me and kick. Several times I have had to lock him out in his paddock to avoid getting killed. We’ve reached a truce. I give him a carrot and he is too preoccupied with it to pay much attention to me when I throw the blanket over his back.

Little bitty gray stallion, is an Andalusian horse. I have to announce myself well in advance of entering his stall. He is sure that I am going to pull some fast maneuver. So sure, infact, that he runs out of his stall into the mud. I follow him out into the ankle deep mush to throw the blanket on him. While I fasten the buckles, he dances on his toes -- just in case. Giving him a little sugar seems to reduce his anxiety.

Wills is a black, 26-year-old Friesian slowly graying out.  Friesians have high knee action. They are pleasant horses with long flowing manes and feathers on their legs. Wills’s mane is modest compared to some I’ve seen. Friesian horses are smooth movers, much like riding a sofa. They are wide-bodied and stand at average about 15 hands. Wills likes to stand outside at all times. I can hardly ever get him to come inside for blanketing. I have to wade out into the muck to throw the blanket over him. He never moves, just watches me with his big expressive eyes.