|One little flea and she goes to war...|
So into the puppy tub he went with loads of soap to wash off all that South Carolina dirt and sand. A thorough check for ticks revealed none, and if there were any fleas, well we cleaned or drowned them too. I fluffed him up with a soft towel then put him outside in the sunshine to finish air drying.
He shook, shivered, quivered, tottered, wobbled, shimmied, shuttered, fluttered, flickered, jostled, joggled, rattled, ruffled, startled, staggered and trembled for a good five minutes.
He rolled in the dirt for good measure, to get some good old Georgia dirt all over him. Next he rearranged his outdoor puppy quilt seventeen different ways until it was comfy and wrinkled enough to suit him. He perched in the sunshine with his fur pointing 99 different ways.
Meanwhile I fumigated the wheel estate for fleas. After all I though I might have seen ONE flea. The only stuff I had to fumigate it with was puppy dog flea spray. I hosed some on my legs for good measure.
I hate resorting to chemical warfare, but when it comes to getting rid of a flea, I will do anything.
The thought of seeing two fleas could quite possibly make me faint in shock, so I had to work quickly before they mated.
Holy cow! Did it ever stink inside. I might have went a tad overboard on the flea spray. So I bagged up the garbage, which sent puppy scurrying for his leash and off to the dump we went on a 2 mile hike.
We paused back by the RV long enough to open all the windows again, turning on a 12volt clip-on fan (my exhaust fans shorted out last week).
We walked another mile around the park, while hopefully all the open windows and fan in the motorhome aired out the fumes.
Upon our return, I opened up a monthly flea killer vial, depositing that on the doggy's shoulder blades, then I pushed him out the door again, just in case that one flea was still around, it could hop off outdoors rather than indoors.
For good measure I swept out the joint, then got my tiny handheld corded vintage vacuum cleaner made by the Singer plant in Anderson, South Carolina circa 1970. I found it at a Goodwill store. It still sucks dirt, so I vacuumed the pre-swept floors, vacuumed all the furniture, corners, cabinets and anything else that dared to get in my way.
I tore the bed apart with a fury, (Harley sleeps in my bed) and washed all that in super hot water, except the comforter, will have to do that another time, but I shook it outside as hard as I could then let it decorate the picnic table while soaking up some naturally sterilizing sunshine. Next I washed the throw rug in hot sudsy water, hot enough to burn a flea alive.
Harley dog thought I had gone mad with all this fervor over one lousy flea.
When I finished with the vacuum cleaner, I took it and the garbage can outside to empty the vacuum. Now we had to hike to the dump again. i wanted that one flea as far from me as possible. Who knows what lurks inside the vacuum cleaner, but I emptied it and cleaned the filter and innards of the vac so thoroughly, that even a no-see-um didn't stand a chance around me.
Upon my return I mopped all the floors, playing golf with Harley dog while they dried.
I found the dog brush, grooming Harley much to his delight. He looked oh so beautiful for about 10 seconds, then he shook, shivered, quivered, tottered, wobbled, shimmied, shuttered, fluttered, flickered, jostled, joggled, rattled, ruffled, startled, staggered and trembled until his fur looked just the way he liked it.
Stuck out in 42 directions.
Sudden exhaustion hit us both, so poof, I laid down on the newly made bed for a few minutes to rest my leg (it's still healing from the bashing with the sidewalk last week).
Woke up maybe a half hour later, hacking up a lung, I think the chemical warfare on the flea wasn't agreeing with me. So I am trying to drink a gallon of water to flush it out of my system while working outdoors again.
Tonight I hope to pack up the camp, maybe get on the road tomorrow. Gotta put a lot of distance between me and that flea.