Recently, my son, Scott, and his wife brought their new baby, Desmond, home from the hospital. While they settled in with bambino and his big sister, Cadence, their dog, Gladys came to stay with us. There was naturally much activity at their house with helpers and visitors in and out. Gladys’ exuberance at seeing someone new at the front door can sometimes be construed by the uninitiated as, frankly, frightening. She is exceptionally strong and barks loudly when anyone approaches the house. Once the unsuspecting visitor is in the door, she likes to express welcome by jumping madly. Deep down, she is a very friendly, loving dog. She just gets excited pretty easily.
At that time her nails were so long, she could rip your face to smithereens in trying to show affection let alone, dislike. So, to be helpful grand-dog-parents we made an appointment at Petsmart for a bath and nail job. Scott said we might need a muzzle, probably a tranquilizer gun. But I am basically a very optimistic person so I loaded Gladys into the car and headed out for the doggie beauty boutique.
The dog grooming area is a glassed in space at the back of the giant warehouse of pet paraphernalia. Gladys tiptoed apprehensively, hairs standing on end and teeth chattering, past the rows of dog noshies and kitty litter contraptions. Her antenna was assuredly tuned on. This might not just be a walk in the park with Nana. When we arrived at the salon waiting room and opened the door we were greeted by a slobbering St. Bernard alternately grinning and lunging from one corner and a pair of snorting pugs shivering in the other. Gladys was very sure she was not going in there. The guy with the St. Bernard called out obligingly “He’s very friendly. . really!” Gladys wasn’t buying. She did a reverse turn and lunged toward the front of the store. She was straining with such emotion that I was afraid she was going to slip her collar and peel right out the front entrance door into the parking lot. She is strong enough to take me with her so although I managed to keep her collared, we slipped and slid across the polished floor until I finally managed to wrestle her into a sitting position away from the waiting room.
Eventually, when the St. Bernard was ushered into the treatment area, I could drag her, still sitting, across the slick tile floor to the counter. When my turn came, I was pretty open about the muzzle suggestion, even begging for a tranquilizer. The sweet thing taking our vitals assured me that their professionals could deal with everything. Not to worry. Go home. We'll call when she's done.
Feeling very self- satisfied, I left the building and headed home. Not 10 minutes later, my cell phone rang. My stomach knotted when the caller ID indicated "Petsmart." I suspected the news would not be good. Reluctantly, I answered. Would I come back. No, the dog did not smell sweet and have short nails. And never would as far as they were concerned. She wouldn't let anyone near her, was growling fiercely and they wanted her . . gone. So much for the professional we-can-handle-everything dog nail cutters.
Back in the store, I waited what seemed like an eternity for the dog groomer to bring my reluctant mutt from her non-manicure. It did give me time to notice all the smug little toy dogs prancing about while their beauticians snipped and styled their dear little fluffy coats. I got into a conversation with another owner who told me that she inherited her dog when her son broke up with the girl to whom he had given the dog. We laughed about being reluctant grandparents to dogs.Then her darling little designer dog came out with 2 cute little bows in her hair because she was such an extra good girl. And I was waiting for Cujo. I wanted to disappear.
The bedraggled Petsmart employee finally returned with Gladys's leash and collar in hand saying he couldn't get her out of the cage. Would I come in. Did I know the dog very well. Although she was flattened against the back wall of a big cage, as soon as she spied me she shot right out the open pen door. The floor was very slippery with soapy water so she was sliding like crazy and gasping to get down the aisle and out of there. I'm not sure why they had taken off her collar but getting it back on the 50 pound squirming maniac was not easy. The Petsmark guy was useless. . in fact, to be honest, he looked so terrified I thought he might dart right into the cage Gladys had just vacated and lock himself in. The winter jacket I was wearing which is too big for me became tangled with my pocketbook; the flailing leash threatened to wrap itself around my legs as I struggled to get the damn collar on gyrating Gladys before we both landed on the wet floor. Somehow I managed to be the victor of that round at least and held on for dear life as she bolted for the door. We flew by cages of startled dogs including the slobbering St. Bernard whose eyes were as big as saucers in total shock witnessing our wild exit.
From my vantage point at the end of the taut leash I could tell that Gladys was grinning from ear to ear singing out to her still caged brethren… .
‘Eh. . . Eh. . . Suckers. . “
Love, Carol. Dot.Com
Grandparenting 101
The Bragging Absolution
Identity Verification
And I Have a Ton of Sippy Cups!
Flunking Dog Bath
Wrapping It Up
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