The Secret to Softer Skin (and Fur)

Can you believe it's already August? Arlo has been suffering the heat a little worse than me lately. Dry itchy skin, rashes. I tried spritzing him down with apple cider vinegar, and it seemed to help alleviate his conditions somewhat, but I wanted to try something different and, frankly, a little more pleasant smelling.

Plenty of skin products advertise colloidal oatmeal. It soothes skin by bringing the high pH of itchy skin down to normal levels. And here I thought "colloidal" indicated some special scientific process, but apparently it's just another term for "finely powdered"—which makes preparing it a snap.

Just grind a cup of oatmeal in a coffee or spice grinder until it's the consistency of a fine dusting powder. You can sprinkle this in a bath (for people or animals). But I wanted something a little more concentrated and having Arlo lie in a bath just didn't seem practical (or water-efficient). So I added just enough water to the powder to make it into a thick paste (think cake batter) then massaged it into his coat. Let it set for at least 15 minutes and then just towel dry afterward if necessary.

There were still some chunky bits left (I knew I should have ground it longer), so I used a flea comb to gently comb them out. What we were left with was the silkiest coat Arlo has had since he was a puppy. Hurray! I'm thinking of a weekly regimen of oatmeal rinses until his rash clears up. I'll let you know how it goes.

Saddest dog in the world

Come April, I will have had Arlo 3 years. A long way from the whimpering howling chicken he used to be. (He hated being alone).

On Tenterhooks

Chewhound in unrare repose.

In the hasty minutes following my departure two nights ago, Arlo snuck to the cupboards. The wafting scent of a cooling vegetable pie fingering his hound nose, tugging at a never-sated hunger. Not so out of reach, he easily shifted loose the glass dish, disturbing its equilibrium. The subsequent crash sent shards scuttling to every corner of the tile floor, bespeckled ravenous morsels.

I came home to find the corpse remains of crushed cherry tomatoes among the broken plate, dried crimson footprints. Frustration and anxiety poisoning any rational thinking on my part. And there he is running up all too happy to have me home. And is he all right? And do I call a doctor? And why did I leave it there? And why did he eat the one thing I was planning on snacking on?

But thankfully, two days later, the glass left his system without episode. Anger turned into relief. The miracle of dog bellies.

How the Beast Sleeps