Though it will seem otherwise, I’m not writing this to gross anyone out. I’m hoping to warn (and maybe entertain?) my fellow Californians and Left Coasters. (Although this may also apply to those back east, once everything thaws out.)
Also, welcome to the new section of this Substack: “Life on Paws.”
The Bump
By Saturday, the barely perceptible bump on Ruby’s forehead had grown to the size of what Dale called a small “pinto bean.” I called it her “tiny potato farm.” Either way, there was no denying the half-centimeter projectile jabbed between our dog’s eyes like a miniature unicorn horn.
We fretted and debated. It had grown exponentially over the course of a week. Was it a wart? (Not uncommon in dogs.) The beginnings of a tumor (benign or otherwise)? The edges were round and smooth — none of the rough edges, black spots, or ulcers that would suggest cancer.
Dale thought it might be a tick, but after parting the fur around the protrusion, couldn’t detect any legs or hairs. WTF?
I made a veterinary appointment and mentally budgeted for a wart removal. Dale accompanied me. Our regular vet, Dr. Sama, was out at a conference, so we would be seeing a different doctor. Damn, I thought. Oh well, we need to have this taken care of.
The tech entered our information into Ruby’s chart and left us to wait for the vet. After a few minutes, the door opened and she all but bounced in — bright, confident, energetic. Reassuring. Dr. Megan. We liked her instantly.
She and the tech leaned over Ruby, who was perched atop the exam table, shivering hard enough to register on the Richter scale. They parted her fur to examine her.
It took all of a second for them to agree: “It’s a tick.”
Dale and I looked at each other, relieved. “A tick!”
The tech scooped Ruby up in her arms and carried her into the procedure area. One tick removal, coming right up!
Dale and I sat waiting, listening to the various doggy noises coming from the other side of the door. I could hear what sounded like at least one bigger dog, maybe two, fidgeting, letting out little whimpers. And then came a yelp-scream that straightened both our spines. It sounded vaguely like R2-D2 getting shot. Also, Ruby. Ruby in pain, perhaps shocked by the final yank of the tick’s head from her tender scalp. One of those cries that wrenches a dog-owner’s heart.
“Is that Ruby?” I breathed. “Jesus.” Dale held my hand.
A few minutes later, Ruby was carried back in, sans pinto bean / tiny potato / unicorn horn. Looking shell-shocked but otherwise fine. Only a small divot remained where the bloodsucker had been.
The doctor asked if we wanted to see the tick and held out a specimen vial. Inside, a round, brownish arachnid was floating half on its back, looking for all the world like a tiny Cartman, its black legs too stubby and ineffectual to support its now bloated body.
On the way home, I joked about it, launching into a loose Cartman impersonation: “I’m not fat, I’m engorged! Eh, you guys, what happened to my buffet?? There was an all-you-can-suck buffet!”
Ruby is doing fine now. Tired after her ordeal but otherwise good. After a brief and hilarious round of doggy judo, I managed to slather the bite wound with Neosporin to keep it from getting infected. We’re also monitoring for any signs of tick-borne illness.
The Warning
Pet owners, consider this your heads-up to check your pets regularly, especially if they spend any time outdoors and are treated with a topical pest control medication. This is our first rodeo with Ruby having ticks. She had been on an oral flea+tick med, Credelio, which was much more powerful than the topical stuff we’ve had to use since she suffered a small seizure last summer. (Credelio has been associated with an increase in seizures in dogs with a history of them. It does NOT, however, CAUSE seizures in dogs who have never had one.) Ruby has not had another seizure (whew!), so we’ve been given the okay to re-try Credelio.
Dr. Megan told us that they’ve seen a rise in the number of tick cases recently, often including ticks that aren’t common in this region. With the biblical level of rainfall we’ve had, followed by days of spring-like weather and Santa Ana winds, the little buggers are proliferating. (And probably unionizing.)
They’re not the only ones.
My recommendation
Ohana Pet Hospital
Locations in Ventura, Santa Paula, Ojai, Oxnard, Port Hueneme, Camarillo, and Fillmore
Bats in our belfry? Close, but no
There’s nothing quite so unsettling as being home by yourself — and sensing that you’re not, in fact, alone.
For days, I’d been hearing scrabbling sounds across our attic. I could follow the patter of feet from one end of the house to the other, and whatever it was, it didn’t sound dainty. If I had to guess, I’d bet it was wearing combat boots.
I was getting that vague creepy feeling at the back of my mind that harkened back to my last year in Pasadena, where I rented a studio apartment in the Playhouse District — one of 14 units in an art deco building constructed in the 1940s. For the first year, it was a quiet little hideaway. And then they broke ground on a new luxury apartment building next door. Whatever critters had been residing on the vacant lot were now unceremoniously evicted. In the months that followed, they invaded my apartment through a hole in the wall behind my gas heater. I would head out to the kitchen in the morning to find my dish towels perforated and torn. One night, I got up to go to the bathroom and in the dark felt something skitter across my foot.
Gyah!
I wound up breaking my lease a few months early so I could move in with Dale.
This last week, an HVAC technician confirmed what I had been hearing in our attic. In doing routine maintenance on our AC, he found a pipe with a hole chewed through it. And in our attic, feces.
Rats.
Dale set up a T-Rex snap trap baited with peanut butter near the attic door. We’ve found them to be more effective and less cruel than, say, sticky traps. (We just want the bastards gone, not tortured.)
That night as I was trying to fall asleep, I listened once more to the sounds of scurrying footsteps: back and forth and around. Near our bedroom and then farther away. What was it doing up there, training for the Olympic hurdles??
Finally, I heard frantic shuffling near the attic door. And then silence. And more silence. I drifted off to asleep.
The next day, Dale confirmed the kill: A good-sized Missouri roof rat. We’ve seen them before, usually scaling our neighbors’ exterior walls. Their presence usually indicates recent environmental stressors.
There have been a few lately, including the 21+ inches of rain that Santa Paula has received to date, followed by a wild temperature swing and drying Santa Ana winds. Nature apparently got the “Spring” memo early. Trees and flowers are budding, honeysuckle is scenting the air, and the hummingbirds are making their return from more southern climes. (But today, we’re back to ~60° and foggy. Sigh.) If we’re experiencing “weather whiplash,” I can only imagine that other species are, too. Even, or especially, the pests.