There’s a story in Wired.com which reports on two cases of bubonic plague (both victims recovered) in the state of Oregon. The individuals apparently caught the disease via infected fleas from their dog, which shared their bed.
Hmm. We live in New York City, in a residential area of Manhattan where the rate of dog ownership is tremendously high, based on how many dogs you see outside being walked at any given time. An especially high proportion of these dogs are small ones — poodles, pugs, terriers and the like. How many do you think sleep on their owners’ beds?
I guess this must be why we are awakened every morning by the chilling sounds of a clanging bell, the rolling wheels of a cart, and the grim and repetitive command: “Bring out your dead!” Continue reading “Don’t get the plague from sleeping with your dog!”
It’s a dog’s life. That expression was originally coined and used to characterize a life of misery (where you might be treated like a dog, get sick as a dog, and die like a dog). In more contemporary times it’s often heard and used in exactly the opposite sense, that of a dog’s life as one of carefree laziness, with every want fulfilled. Since dogs have, in many societies, gone from working beasts thrown scraps to pampered pets who shop at canine boutiques, it’s not hard to understand how the expression has garnered its new meaning. 
