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My Dogs Gave Me Poison Ivy

Every year it's the same thing: My two Goldens pick up poison ivy and pass it to Mama. Can I catch a break, please?

 |  Sep 24th 2012  |   7 Contributions


You should see the other guy. That’s what I wanted to say to the people who took one look at my face this summer as I was walking my dogs and inevitably averted their eyes from the horror. 

Granted, I did look like I was part of some underground fight club. Swollen eyes; puffy, red cheeks; a distinct aura of defeat. But then, as anyone who saw the 1996 cult film knows, the first rule of Fight Club is ... you do not talk about Fight Club. Also, the damage wasn’t dramatically caused by some 'roided out opponent, but by my pair of innocent-looking Goldens

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Max and Major, rolling around in the garden and getting ready to share who-knows-what.

That’s right: My poison-ivy-spreading pooches were responsible for turning me into some facial freak show this summer. 

To be fair, I inevitably stumble upon my own poisonous plants while gardening. I’m pretty sure some poison ivy-sumac-oak combo afflicts me yearly. But the worst of it always seems to come from my boys, who each and every summer turn into four-legged transmitters.  

Every season, I vow it will be different. I will be vigilant. I will finally learn how to spot the plants, in all their mutations. I will invent some garden-variety Lady Gaga egg to protect me from the elements.

I try to keep the boys away from poison whatever in our yard and our walks. I try to remember to wash my hands after petting them. But honestly, my hands would be raw if I did that. So, I buy all –- and I mean all -- over-the-counter antidotes. I try every home remedy known to man or the Internet. 

Yes, I did cover all my welts in clear nail polish after reading it helps dry up the affected areas and keeps the rash from spreading. No, I didn’t consider the potential effect of the chemicals on my skin. I went through two bottles of polish before concluding it was an urban myth.

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Yikes! And this picture was taken when I was on the mend.

Inevitably, I call the doctor’s office. Usually I can just phone in, say I have poison ivy –- again -- and someone calls in a prescription for prednisone, the steroid most commonly used to treat poison ivy. But this year was different. I recently moved, so my new doctor wanted to see me before prescribing prednisone. Fair enough, except I couldn’t get an appointment for a week. 

“Are you serious?” I almost cried into the phone. I offered to come in and let a doctor diagnose me from the lobby or the parking lot. I could text a picture as proof, I said, only half-joking. I promised I wouldn’t try to sell the pills on some prednisone black market -– though if one existed I would have definitely tried to score some. The nurse was sympathetic but unmoved. She was sorry, but I had to come in -– the following week. 

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Poison ivy sign by Shutterstock

At night, I could swear I felt the toxins spreading. I clawed at my skin. I enviously watched my dogs soundly sleeping. I read up on how dogs are protected from poison ivy’s urushiol oils through their fur. Isn’t that handy? Adorable silent assassins, I thought in my darkest hours.

By the time I saw the doctor, I had the worst case I could remember in years. My left eye was nearly swollen shut. I finally had those coveted puffy lips, if you could just ignore the oozing rash around them. I believe the clinical term is "hot mess." Looks like poison ivy, Dr. Obvious concluded. Sorry, a mutant case of poison ivy makes me a little snippy. 

It took a few weeks to clear up, and I have some scarring from the rash. But as I write this, I am reveling in a hint of the cool air to come, which will eventually zap those evil plants into submission for another season. And –- bonus! -- I have a refill of prednisone waiting for me if it happens to come back before the first frost hits.

Over the years, doctors, friends, and people unlucky to run into me midbout have offered lots of suggestions. One doctor revealed his dismal bedside manner by suggesting I refrain from petting my dogs in the summer. I refrained from returning to his office. Another suggested I wear gloves when petting my dogs. That was just weird.

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Max "helps" with gardening while Major looks on.

But while not foolproof, there are a few ways to decrease the pooch-to-human poison-ivy transfer:

  • Cover up: When you’re out in the yard or playing with your dogs, wear long pants and a long-sleeve shirt. That way, if your pets rub up against you, you can wash the clothes and hopefully keep the oils from spreading to your skin. 
  • Wash your hands: In theory, this is a good idea. But as I mentioned earlier, in my reality, it’s not practical. Same goes for bathing your pets. I have a pair of active, rambunctious boys. They’d be in the tub every day if I went down this road.
  • Keep your doctor on speed dial: Obviously, this is what works best for me. 

Do you get poison ivy from your pets? If not, what do you do to keep from getting poison ivy from your pets? Let us know in the comments. 

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