In all her time, the little flea never once felt feelings for another of her kind. Her mother and father both attempted an arranged marriage, but the flea thought those ceremonies belonged in the past. Why should she have to force herself to love someone she didn’t? Besides, the dog consumed her thoughts all day, although she kept that a secret from everyone—even her
best friends.

“One day I’ll talk to him,” she told herself. “But I doubt he even knows I exist.”

You see, this flea was unlike all the other fleas in her colony.

And that day arrived soon, for after suffering an entire week’s worth of dreams about confessing her love to the dog, her parents noticed her languishing about the house.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” her father asked.

“Nothing,” she said.

Her mother said gleefully, “I know that look. Our little girl is in love!”

“Mom,” the flea said, embarrassed.

“Now now, tell us. Who’s the lucky boy?”

“You won’t approve, so I won’t tell you.”

“Approve? Why? I don’t see why we would quarrel with your choice.”

The little flea lifted her head and her abdomen quivered with uncertainty. “Well, do you promise not to be angry?”

“Yes! Now just tell us, dear,” her mother said.

“I’m … in love with the dog.”

Her parents dropped their antennae, shocked and disheartened.

“The dog?” her father said with disgust. “You can’t be in love with the dog! The dog is a food source, not your boyfriend.”

“Oh yeah? Says who?”

“Young lady, watch your mouth! Don’t speak to your father
that way!”

“I knew it! I just knew it. Well I don’t care what you have to say. I’m going to talk to him and you can’t stop me!”

And that’s exactly what the little flea did.

It took hours and hours of crawling through his thick fur, but finally she reached the dog’s neck, and chose an ear to speak into.

Once inside the dog’s ear, she cleared her throat but suddenly the words got trapped in her mouth.

“What can I ever say to convince him,” she wondered.

Of course she’d rehearsed a speech while traveling, but she forgot it entirely once she arrived.

“Hello,” she began timidly. “I’m in love with you.”

Immediately she wished she could take it back, but she couldn’t.
She flushed.

“How terribly humiliating,” she thought.

“Who’s this?” the dog answered.

Mustering a little courage, the little flea finally professed her undying love for the dog. She spoke for what seemed like hours but was probably
only minutes.

“So, I must know—do you love me back? Will you be with me?”

“Ha!” the dog barked. “As if. You’re a parasite, leeching off of me. You’re nothing more than added weight. You’re probably the reason why I feel so sick and lazy all the time. You’re just a dirty insect.”

The flea’s feelings were very hurt. She wanted to jump away from the dog but didn’t know what was beyond his skin—the only world she’d ever known. So she huddled further inside the dog’s ear and cried.

“Now I’m all alone. My family has disowned me. You don’t want me. What am I to do?”

The dog instantly regretted his spiteful, unsympathetic words.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But you’ll be just fine. There, there,” he whispered. “You’ll find someone.”

“No one understands me.”

The dog sighed. “That’s not true. I’m in love, too, although she doesn’t know it.”

“Who?”

“The girl—my owner—who adopted me. I’m sorry for treating you so terribly, but you see, sometimes we speak to others with a hate that was meant for ourselves. I’m nothing more than a freeloader to her, as you are to me. She feeds me and walks me, and gives me a bed. But my love for her remains unrequited. I’m merely a dog in her eyes.”

The little flea was touched by the dog’s words.

“Don’t worry, my friend,” she sang brightly. “I will find this girl. I will speak to her of your greatness and surely she will be convinced to love you.” Her thorax swelled with pride.

“Oh, thank you, tiny one,” the dog said. “I will let your kin feed off me for as long as they need in appreciation of your deed. When will you attempt to speak with her?”

“Now,” the little flea said, as she sprang off the dog into the unknown. She found herself on the very quilt covering the girl. Early morning light cascaded through the windows.

The girl’s flesh was hairless and the flea did not like being so unprotected, but a part of growing up is accepting one’s own vulnerability. Soon, she found the girl’s ear and long, flowing hair—beautiful hair to get lost in.

“Excuse me, miss,” the little flea said as sweetly as she could, “but someone loves you.”

The girl turned in her sleep. She couldn’t be bothered to hear any
of it.

So she squashed that voice inside her head and continued dreaming.