Interbent

Growing up on the bad side of town gave my dog-loving mother the perfect excuse to own a wide array of dogs. It was so bad, that if you had asked me or either one of my brothers what we thought mom would be getting us for a Christmas or upcoming birthday – we would have undoubtedly answered: a dog.

I am not sure if my mother was truly that concerned for our safety or if she was simply giving in to her exuberant compassion for dogs, but our three bedroom country house had become home to eleven dogs before she finally managed to bring her impulsive hording of canines under control. We certainly enjoyed each and every one of them, including the few, weirder looking ones. My mother, as it turned out, was beyond mainstream in her choice of dog breeds. Thereby, our breeds of dogs ranged from the massive Neapolitan Mastiff to a puny pug-chihuahua mix.

The point of this story, however, goes beyond wagging tails and wet kisses. During one of the hotter summers in recent history, we fell victim to an infestation of thousands of flees. They so thoroughly dug into our carpets that our socks would turn from white to black along one particularly flee-cozy area of our house.

Though my mother had a big heart and broad taste in dog breeds, she did not lack in the hygiene department. One by one, our dogs were shampooed and treated with Frontline, and the fleas eventually disappeared. Today, amazingly, my mother owns no pets and lives on the safer side of town. I, however, now own two labs that never skip on a Frontline plus dose! I still get the wagging tails and sloppy kisses without the fear of flee infestation.

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