Humans have it so easy, what with their big, spacious, uncovered ears.

Poor me.  A few days ago, an overwhelming itch invaded my ear.  I scratched and scratched, until I felt my skin go raw.  But this was no ordinary itch.

Soon, I noticed huge globs of dark ear wax on my paw after scratching.  It carried a sweet, pungent smell.

My Two-Legged Pets took notice and, devoid of any ideas, I stared at them expectantly -- willing them to know what my body was doing.

One vet trip later, we discovered that I have -- wait for it -- a yeast infection in my ear.

Yes.  Yeast.

I have transformed into a sexually promiscuous middle-aged woman.

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I can get hairy.  My two-legged pets take me the infernal grooming place every 32 meals or so, where way-too-perky humans mutilate my nails, soak me to the bone, and place me inside a deafening wind tunnel.

Despite having received a near full-body buzz cut on these trips (except for my voluminous tail ... why do they think that's attractive?  It's like I have a Goodyear blimp trailing me everywhere!), my pets forget to take advantage of the situation and apply my anti-flea and tick topical agent.  They wait and get it stuck in my fur -- all smelly and goopy.  (And then THEY want to complain about "Creak's odor."  Really.)

Apparently my constant scratching of myself has paid off.  The Two-Leggers noticed their anti-vermin solution was anything but, and have now switched me to chewable tablets.  (They taste like Flintstones vitamins.)

Here's hoping this human answer works.  (Though, remember it is humans who place dogs in bags ... to carry them around.  Sanity?)

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So I think my two-legged pets are trying to poison me again.

Every day, as soon as I have finished my meal, I cannot help but feel itchy all over -- to the point of squirming.  I find myself every afternoon writhing on the carpet, on my back, in pure itching annoyance.

My pets think it is "cute."

But I cannot help but wonder ... what is it I am being fed that causes such a physical disturbance for me?

Rolling on the ground only temporarily relieves my back.  To get to the inside of my paws -- which, believe you me, burn like they are being held aloft a flame -- I find myself licking and gnawing into my paw pad, desperate for my too-short teeth to scratch the burning skin below.

Couple the exertion of rolling around, bending and contorting with osteoarthritis (in four legs, thank you), and it makes for an exhausting afternoon.  Every day.

It has to be something in the food ...

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