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Itchy dog joins pile of bills, duties

By MARLENE SOKOL
Published November 3, 2006

"You soak his thumb in iodine you might get by without the orthodonture, but it won't knock any off the college."

Frances McDormand (Raising Arizona) spoke the truth. You don't get a pass when newspaper revenues lag at the same time homeowner insurance rates are going through the roof.

None of it means squat when they send you to - the doggie dermatologist.

It's not covered, either, under that health care plan from the vet. Specialists are totally, totally extra.

Which must say something about the unfailing lovability of a Labrador retriever. I'll climb Mount Everest to ease the itching in a creature so loyal and endearing.

Today Mount Everest is an office park just south of Busch Boulevard.

It's like veterinarians, intensified. The attendants don't just like the animals, they coo like besotted grandmothers.

Sticker shock happens early. I must be prepared for the possible hemorrhaging of my children's college fund, should Casey require a full battery of allergy tests and a lifetime of subcutaneous injections.

But then, it's my Lab.

And, as if to take pity on us both, the doc prescribes an interim treatment plan that falls short of the whole enchilada.

I will knock down the infection with two antibiotic pills, twice a day with food.

I will attack the yeast with 1¹/₂ more pills, daily, with or without food.

I will saturate that food in fish oil. I will load up on Benadryl - after a while it won't make the dog sleepy.

I'll hire a guy to spray the yard for the suspected allergen, something they call "the Wandering Jew."

I'll bathe Casey once a week, alternating between stuff that bleaches your clothes and stuff you buy in the supermarket.

I'll douse her, at assorted intervals, with two sprays: One that must absorb into the coat for 10 minutes, a second that saturates her afterward.

Now for the wardrobe.

Yes, Casey is to wear boots and socks when she goes near anything green. And - a T-shirt.

That's not even the whole regimen, it's just what I absorb as I corral young Casey to the car, a good $600 lighter and juggling a shopping bag full of lotions, pills, creams and sprays.

I almost forget - a Baby Wipe rubdown each time she enters the house.

Here's the real rub:

No one person can do all that.

Not a person with human children who go to school all over town, a house with water leaking from mysterious places, a job, a car and an almost-50 body to schlep to the gym.

And so the sad truth is, you do what you can.

Yes, animal people, that sounds unconscionable. But it's what ends up happening. Ask any vet.

The second spray? Maybe we'll remember to do that once a day. The Benadryl might wait for the weekend. Socks and boots? We'll just see.

Like everything else you can't seem to do up to specified standards, your dog's dermatological care becomes a series of choices and tradeoffs, a mediocre muddle, somewhere between fanaticism and neglect.

Thankfully, Casey is feeling much, much better on her modified regimen.

Now, on to those leaky pipes.

[Last modified November 2, 2006, 11:19:22]