My Dog Has Fleas

That’s the little bit you sing when your ukulele needs tuning—G-My C-Dog E-Has A-Fleas. WHY do I know this and WHY is it sticking in my head lately? I've never played uke AND it’s not even one of those fab mnemonic dealies like Every Good Boy Does Fine (for the lines of the treble clef) or FACE (for the treble clef spaces). Yup, those got drilled into me at my first lessons when I was a tiny tot of eight.

My first instrument? Clarinet and I HATED it! Mostly, that was due to all the squeaking and honking. I got that, if I progressed in my playing, the instrument wouldn't beep and bark so much. Didn't care. I wasn't yet a Benny Goodman fan.

Rocco—annoyed yet patient with my paparazzi tendencies

Coco—dreaming of her next big outdoor adventure

I wanted to play trumpet. It was pretty, I liked the shape of it AND I loved the sound. Classical music was always playing in our home (except when Daddy had Nitty Gritty Dirt Band and Dylan on the turntable) so I knew which sounds I liked, what I wanted to make. My mother ixnayed my choice saying, Girls don't play trumpet. You can play either flute or clarinet. The school wasn't offering stringed instrument classes or else I could've had violin lessons—this being a gender appropriate, approved instrument in mia madre's eyes.

Back to the dog with fleas though—why am I tuning tiny Hawaiian guitars in my head now? Eh, my cats have fleas. I’ve no damn clue how they got them either. Apart from Coco’s big adventure the other week, neither are outdoor beasties. Could she have brought 'friends' home with her?

I’m coated in tiny bites and anti-itch lotion now and, lemme just tell you, this is not making me all happy, joy-joy.

Yesterday, I vacuumed, dusted, washed all the bedding, brushed and applied flea-be-gone to the napes of Rocco and Coco’s necks. This BETTAH work!