MAC Messages Number 85:
January/February 2001

Sometimes I feel like a flea that lives on a dog's tail - the flea being the Library Services Department and the dog being Cape Fear Valley Health System. Flea survival is very tricky and, over the years, I've learned that some methods work better than others.

From where I sit (on the tail), understanding dog behavior is very difficult. A lot of the time this behavior defies a flea's sense of logic or baffles a flea's comprehension of sound business practice. Nonetheless, I carefully selected this dog for my home and, despite what he might think, I am committed to his success. He frequently seems annoyed with me because this flea is a non-revenue generating "parasite." (Conversely, I don't understand why the Financial Planning ticks are regarded with such high esteem.) But, so far, I have avoided being crushed between the dog's teeth when he nips at me. I am a fast jumper.

My dog is kinda big, a cross between Golden Retriever and Blue Tick Hound (a Southern variety). Sometimes he's lazy and I can't resist taking a good bite of the tail to evoke reaction. Sometimes my dog gets excited about some new healthcare reimbursement scheme and races wildly toward it. When he gets excited, his tail starts wagging at such a furious rate that I have to hang on for dear life.

It has occurred to me that life on the tail has its advantages and disadvantages. Sometimes months slip by and I go unnoticed, which is a good thing when you are considered a parasite. However, sometimes I have valuable information that I wish the dog would consider. Being the courageous flea that I am, I have marched right over the spinal vertebrae (the whole "chain of command") and firmly positioned myself on the bridge of the nose at the head. No matter how loud I yelled when I delivered my message, the dog didn't see or hear me. Alas, I am but a very small flea.

Being the tenacious flea that I am, one day I decided to get a good look at the dog's brain. I was curious about the size of the brain and how it functioned. This time I marched over those vertebrae at the nape of the neck and slid onto the ear. I worked my way into the aural orifice and, sure enough, there was the brain! On the way in, I discovered hairs that would respond when stimulated. From here I could even talk in a whisper and this flea could be heard. I learned to slide my information in by going to the side of the head and through the ear, rather than mounting a direct frontal encounter. The subtle side approach seems to get better results. You see, I don't care if the head recognizes that flea provided the information as long as the dog gets the message. Sooner or later, the brain may recognize where some of the useful messages are emanating. In the meantime, I'm still performing agile acrobatic feats to avoid becoming dislodged from my home on the tail. I am sorry about those itsy-bitsy flea bites, but even a good flea has to eat!

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