Ode to Fleadom

You know how some folks say that certain activities help them to de-stress, like cleaning the house or weeding a garden? Well, I'm not some folks. I've recently discovered my own method of stressbusting, and boy does it work like a charm for the ol' grouse. It comes in the form of a tiny little creature called a tick. Thats right... my heart lifts and my emotions soar at the thought of a parasite, and I wanted to share this new-found joy with everyone.

I don't know if it's the weather or the moggies he socializes with, but since recently my dog Tuti (short for Tutankhamun, after that rich pharoah bugger up the Nile whom I fantasize occasionally about) has started displaying miniature black lightbulbs on himself. Looks like one of those costumes from Pirates of the Carribean (I watched it recently, hence the reference to demostrate my indepth knowledge of movies). At first we though it was just another fashion faux pas of his, because he's given to his phases - like the time he took a liking to sporting my underwear on his head. On closer inspection they turned out to be a community of insects, commonly known to the local as a 'makka' in the mother tongue.

Having brought up countless canines ever since I can remember, ticks are commonplace in the homestead, and don't evoke the stereotypical shrieking and exclamations of 'eeyah' from any of the household women. Nor does it spur us into action by way of speedily transporting said dog to the vet and wrining our hands in abject dismay, until a stinky solution costing the earth is poured onto the fur and we grimace at the sight of the ticks falling off and scrambling all over the floor.

No. We pride ourselves on our primitive methods, and thus, as we have for many years, we immediately swooped down on a thoroughly perplexed dog and began using those glorious tools called fingernails and proceeded to pluck at the parasitical baubles.

It's been two weeks since, and we're still plucking.

I know. You'd advice me to use the stinky solution and have it over with in a day. But here's the thing, mate... it's LOVELY to pick ticks. It's actually relaxing and very zen-like. There's something so releasing about picking out a crawly little bugger and flicking him down the toilet. It's a sense of accomplishment, I tell you, to collect them in a bowl of water, and at the end of a grooming session, proudly survey your pluckings, backstroking in their new swimming pool. So much so that it's almost become an unspoken contest between Mother and I; working tirelessly from two sides of dog and competing to pluck out the most number of fleas.

We're not the only ones benefitting either. You should see Tuti. He flops down on the floor and surrenders himself to our greedy fingers with a sigh of content and a look on his face that is very much reminiscent of a maharaja enjoying a sensual oil massage at the hands of his harem. The cats are incredibly jealous.

I have to admit, I'm now addicted to the art of de-ticking my dog. Before them creepy crawlies came, I couldn't tear myself away from Yahoo game demos. Now, all is forgotten and trivial in comparison to the joys of playing Nazi to a bunch of fleas. After two weeks of fur-weeding and strict prohibition from hob-nobbing with strays, Tuti's little companions are a dying race. Soon, they will be gone, leaving a fond memory of the happiness their exorcism gave me.

You should try it sometime. I swear, it's a rewarding expeience like no other. Ask you dog to think about it.

And if you're too squirmish, you know who to call for the job. ;)