As I mentioned earlier, it's hot

I've received some complaints about the scarcity of my postings lately. I haven't felt like writing. The heat has been oppressive.

Besides, there's nothing to write about or cope with but the heat -- except the fleas. The stuff on the back of my neck, the weekly baths, yard treatment, the carpet treatment, the food supplements -- none of it has rid us of the fleas.

MB and Clem are all excited about having discovered the miracle of some anti-itch lotion for their flea bites. They're so thrilled about relief from scratching that they bought several tubes of it -- one for each of them and then an extra for the car. They put stuff on my flea bites too, but it doesn't excite me, it doesn't taste good and I'm still scratching anyway. But finding that goop was their week's highlight.

My week's highlight was the discovery of a small leather case in Clem's canvass bag. It was the perfect size for my jaw. For a few glorious moments I lay there, nose in the satchel, salivating, puncturing, tearing and chewing. I forgot all about the heat and the fleas and the boredom of it all. I lay on my side, head in the bag, my doggie-brain wandering back into a primitive canine past of fleshy texture, smell and taste.

Maybe the squishy sound of my mastication was insufficiently muffled by the canvass. Maybe she wanted to give me another flea combing, and saw my bed was empty. Maybe she just sensed I was somewhere actually enjoying myself. I may never know what tipped off MB.

As soon as I heard the THUMP of her feet coming my way, I abandoned the site -- I've learned not to linger for the lecture -- and made a fast dash around her legs and into the bedroom. She was too quick for me, for once, and leapt deftly over the laundry basket to block my favorite point of entry for the ole under-the-bed sanctuary that has worked so well in the past. I snarled and barked but the next thing I knew she had me down by the collar, back to the floor -- my legs sticking up helplessly. MB isn't one for spanking but the "oh bad, bad, bad dog" lecture is SHEER HELL.

I tried to catch Clem's eye, but he had already been warned NOT TO LOOK at me, so he kept a blank expression. It's also possible that he bore me a slight grudge over the leather item. But it isn't like he was chewing it. I could tell he had never even put it in his mouth, so it was just lying there going to waste in his canvass bag when I found it.

The worst part was that the birds saw the whole thing from their night-time cages, and of course they had to comment.

That was yesterday. Now that we three are all back here in the study in perfect harmony, I'm wondering whether they won't reconsider the whole "he-can't-have-Clem's-leather-case" attitude. I'm going to just lie on the floor here, kind of close to the canvass bag, keeping my nose within range of the opening, just to see how it goes . . .