"I have fleas" and other short stories by Samantha Cocco

(read: Various tales that I can’t summon the creative energies to tie together with a common theme)

“I have fleas”

Why, you may ask, have these incredibly fast, impossible-to-kill, skin-nibbling little creatures recently inhabited my ankles and feet? While some may subsequently assume that my personal hygiene has severely diminished since my arrival to Pohnpei, I can assure you that my cleanliness of self, if anything, has actually improved. It had to, really, due to all of the sweating I find myself doing.

It’s not a question of personal hygiene, then, but rather, a question of how much I love puppies. The answer is, a lot. I love puppies so much that I can’t stop playing with the ones our dog Princess delivered a few weeks ago, though they’re not altogether too healthy and, clearly, riddled with fleas that are transferring onto my lower legs daily. This problem wouldn’t be so terrible in itself, but is compounded by the misfortune of my (undiagnosed and highly exaggerated) disorder known as dermatillomania, also known as compulsive skin picking. I have a very difficult time keeping myself from scratching at skin irritations, and picking at the scabs when they develop. I have little tolerance for mosquito bites, and flea bites have proved to be (roughly) one hundred times itchier than those from mosquitoes. Thus, I have been scratching like hell, and have opened up a number of the bites, which will likely soon become infected.

The simple and obvious solution to my problem is to not touch the puppies until they are big enough to keep the fleas off of themselves. But it’s not just puppy love (pun intended) between me, Teddy Bear (named after my dog at home), and Black Beauty (named after my favorite horse story when I was little). Our love story began one morning when Black Beauty, still in the process of figuring out how hind legs work, army-crawled her way to the backyard, right outside my window (a distance of about 25 feet – quite a trek for a puppy on only front legs, which I think must have taken her all night), where she whimpered until I came out to play with her. Things got more serious the other night when I spotted Teddy Bear, fast asleep (or so I thought) on his side in the driveway, and crouched down to pet him. But before I could touch him, he caught sight of me out of the corner of his eye, and his tiny brown body began convulsing with excitement. Once he got on his feet, he turned around six complete, clumsy times before burrowing into my feet and running around some more.
My point is this: if you saw these puppies, you’d have fleas, too. I am not ashamed.


“Four means you will die”
A few entries earlier, I discussed my tendency to ‘jinx’ myself – as soon as I boast, “well, at least (insert undesirable situation) hasn’t happened yet!” lo and behold, the situation occurs. I clearly haven’t learned my lesson about boasting, because a few weeks ago, I made two claims that I would take back if I could.

The first, in response to a story about being chased by dogs: “You know, dogs never chase me. I think they know that I won’t hurt them, so there’s no need to defend themselves against me.” The very next day, on my way to school, a dog who watches me walk by every single morning and afternoon, and is additionally the laziest thing I’ve ever seen, came after me, completely unprovoked. Even then, I boasted to myself, “Well, he was upset about something. It had nothing to do with me.” But a few nights later, on my way home at dusk, three dogs who live next door saw me on my way down the street, and decided to pick on me, barking and running towards me. I tried to hush them with “Shhh!” and “Shay!”, to which most dogs here usually quiet down, but they just got angrier. I ignored them, but as I tried to pass them, one actually bared his teeth and advanced toward me. Luckily, a rock came hurling at the dog’s head, courtesy of a man across the street, and all three scurried off. I thanked the man, but I don’t know if I can forgive the dogs.

Additionally, around the same time, I said, thoughtfully – no boasting intended this time – “You know, I haven’t actually seen one centipede (which are poisonous, can grow to over a foot long, and are highly feared by everyone) in all the months I’ve been here. How strange!” Well, two weeks ago, I saw, screamed at, and killed my first centipede… and then my second, four hours later. I asked our maintenance worker and resident Pohnpeian guru, Immanuel, if this was an omen of my impending death. Straight-faced, he told me, “No. Four means you will die.” The color must have drained from my face, because a moment later, he laughed a big, hearty laugh, and didn’t stop for a full minute.

The moral of the story? No one is immune to street dogs and poisonous centipedes. Also, don’t boast.