Jack is one of those dogs whose flesh ticks find especially delicious. They nibble their way in, and sip his blood until he's virtually a husk of his former self. Farmer H went to PetCo to get Frontline flea and tick medicine for both dogs. Sorry, Copper! You're on your own!
Of course, Jack does not weigh 20 to 50 pounds like robust Juno. He needed the 5-20 pound dose. Farmer H thought he was buying the chewable stuff for Jack, and the drops between the shoulders for Juno. He even asked the clerk. She assured him he was getting what he asked for. Chewable flea and tick medicine for Jack. Liquid flea and tick medicine for Juno.
When Farmer H got home, he put Juno's medicine on her. She didn't object. He went to get the box for Jack, and upon actually reading the directions, found out that it was only for FLEAS! No ticks. Yet Jack had been so infested with ticks that Farmer H and HOS picked about 40 of them off him the day before. Farmer H said the inside of poor Jack's ears were almost black with ticks. Now he was Yosemite Sam mad that he had paid almost $50 for medicine that did nothing about the ticks.
Farmer H got on the phone to PetCo. Complained that he was sold a product that was NOT what he was promised. They said bring it back for a refund. Thank the Gummi Mary, he had not opened the package. Of course, PetCo is in Bill-Paying Town, a good 20 miles from Hillmomba. So Farmer H made another trip down there, and talked to a manager, who said the young clerks don't really know the products they're selling. Of course Farmer H's debit card wouldn't work in the effort to credit the refund and buy the right product. So he had to put it on the credit card. He SAYS she only charged him the difference. Not the full amount. We'll see when the charges come in. I'll be manning the automated number.
Anyhoo...Farmer H put the Frontline on Jack. Yet later in the evening, sitting on the front porch after Jack's snack, I saw a tick on his ear. Farmer H was again not happy. "C'mere, Jack!" He grabbed Jack by the ear and started trying to get the tick off. Jack was having none of that!
Jack laid down on his back and did the DEAD DOG. That's what the ex-mayor my sister's husband calls it. In fact, he used to use that term in reference to his kids when they were younger. You know, when they collapse and become dead weight, as if they have no bones in their body.
I patted Jack in commiseration. Jack was still not having it. He squirmed and twisted his head. Farmer H looked ready to put a foot on Jack's neck.
"Maybe it would be easier if you held him..."
Heh, heh! That would be akin to establishing a grip on a greased pig. Jack does NOT like being held. He will twist his long body until he springs free. He's like a roiling rope of muscle. A thick rope, like one that might hold a battleship against a pier.
Farmer H finally pulled that tick loose, and Jack sat up and looked at him adoringly, wagging his tail.
You can't keep a good dog down, baby. You can't keep a good dog down.