Everyone thinks it’s so easy being a flea, but we really have it very hard. It’s not easy finding a rat or a dog to ride on and when you find a place to hang out for a while someone wants to evict you from between your set of hairs. Oh well I guess, that’s the lot of a flea.
I was riding on a doggo the other day, he was very nice and very nice looking. He was brown, I don’t know his name, but he had short hair and a very nice face. His coat was warm too. I get very cold floating around the air and occasionally jumping to another side of an animal that I’m riding, or changing from one steed to another. The worst part is when they bite themselves, but he didn’t do that or scratch himself too often.
Last Thursday, though, I was riding a big mangy rat. It was very nice actually, because he didn’t scratch himself much and didn’t seem to care much about the mange. This is the best part in my opinion. I asked Florence from the grove of hair near the tail if she would accompany me to a feast in one of the clumps. She said yes of course. Not because I have much personal prowess, but because I have a very nice grove of my own in quite a desirable part of the haunch.
We dined at dusk when we would be assured of the least amount of movement. I do hate it when the mange comes loose while moving and you have to find a new steed and a new place to make one’s home. It was quite lovely…that is until she died on me. I do wish we lived longer. Just as soon as we hit our prime we die. Well, all I can hope for is that I don’t see it coming. I don’t want to get on an animal with the plague, but I would like to go quickly. Maybe in a torrent of a dog bath, flushed down a drain or blown out into the hot air where I’m knocked out and never know what hit me.