THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Monday, July 17, 1995 TAG: 9507170108
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Guy Friddell
LENGTH: Medium: 63 lines
From hearsay, my assumption was that the day after the brown Lab began taking the new no-flea tablet, fleas would start dropping off him like acorns in an autumn wind.
A boon to humankind as well as caninedom. Since we are pretty close, I offered at the vet's to take the tablet myself along with him.
``Otherwise, the fleas might hop off him onto me and then back onto him, like checkers,'' I said to the smiling young woman.
No, she said, that wouldn't be necessary.
``Has anybody else volunteered to take part in the experiment?''
She thought not.
``Then you might let the pill rollers know you have a volunteer here.''
When on the ninth day the Lab was still scratching, I called again.
The pill wouldn't begin taking effect for a couple of months, my friend said, and even then it wouldn't affect adult fleas, but would control flea populations by breaking the life cycle at the egg stage. So the eggs won't hatch.
``But the Lab forthwith will go out in the field across the way and pick up a new batch of fleas,'' I said.
She agreed.
``Then what's happening is that after each dose of the tablet he will be renewing the fleas on his pelt and thereby gradually will be de-fleaing the entire field without ever ridding the fleas from himself,'' I theorized.
She did not deny that prognosis.
So the Lab still must have a shampoo as of yore.
There's the rub.
Both he and I detest it.
The Lab will jump into water at every chance, mudhole or ocean or the canals of Mars if he could get to them; but he regards a bath as the ultimate indignity, which he resists at every step and has to be dragged to by his hind legs from under the farthest corner of the bed.
A phone call to Linda, the pet groomer, disclosed that the no-flea tablet has not yet diminished her business. She was busier than ever.
The Lab and I rode to Ocean View at 6:30 a.m. Sunday in the already near-stifling day, and he retrieved sticks thrown from the beach into the Bay for 45 minutes.
In the unrelieved heat in the field at home, we would have quit after 15 minutes, but the waters off the strand are life instilling. On the last throw I followed him in.
When time came to leave the beach, he stood, mutinous at the car's open door.
``Let's get this straight, Boomer. If you want to stay out here on the beach all day without your breakfast and dodge the dog patrol, OK. But I'm leaving for home.''
After a moment's reflection, he got in the back seat, slowly.
At home, after a toweling and breakfast, he hopped onto the cot in the workroom and lay on his side in slumber, legs stretched out as if he were still running on the beach.
To make the no-flea tablet effective, all it takes is a dip in salt water. by CNB