Hurricane Defeats Heatstroke

When they talk about all the pets that died in Hurricane Katrina, I wonder how many of those passed on not in the brunt of the storm but in the hellish doldrums before? When I googled "heat," "dogs," and "diarrhea" earlier this week, I was somewhat surprised to retrieve dozens of articles on doggie heatstroke. It turns out that this hot, humid hell we've been inhabiting for the last week and a half is as dangerous for short-nosed dogs as for old people. The op-eds told me that the situation required immediate attention. The 4 plastic bags I was carrying on each walk to clean up Myla's unsolidified sidewalk samples spoke much louder.

[Picture: All sorts of heat-related explosions: Myla drinks from a fire-hydrant-turned-fountain on our block]

At first I blamed the pork chop. Myla and I shared this most amazing urban moment in Prospect Park as I let the dog off leash to fetch the ball. We were simultaneously distracted: I by a huge Peregrine falcon landing on the branch above my head; Myla by the delicious remnants of a BBQ. It took me 15 minutes to get her back on lead (the precise amount of time it took to gnaw her bone into nothingness). She walked home, between bathroom breaks, with a swagger. But after 2 days of 90 degree weather, even with ice packs and fans applied as close as possible, the shit truly hit the fan. Unable to cool herself off at 2 in the morning, the poor girl lost control and exploded all over our carpet.

After a visit to our neighborhood vet, the installation of an AC unit, and a couple crazy thunderstorms courtesy of Hurricane Oscar, I'm happy to report that we are no longer "hotter than shit." My 2 am walks to weather Myla's movements have come to a close, replaced by a lovely midnight stroll before bed. An enthusiastic thumbs up to Resolve carpet cleaner, as well, without which our world would not be the same.