I have never taken a dog to a groomer before, and by the looks of Harriet, she has never darkened the doorstep of one either. When I got her, she was billed as a rough coat terrier. Ms. Harriet wore her wire coat with pride and would spend days not acknowledging me if I dared "trim" it. Basically, I thought she liked looking scruffy. Harriet resembles a loaf of bread, a marble loaf; if the bread was made from hair.
As the receptionist rattled off the included services in the grooming package: shampoo, cut, nails, ears; I nearly spit out my coffee at the last one. "Oh, and anal glands too." Ok, I know what anal glands are, and I guess some part of me knew that the vet will "take care" of those at various points in a dog's life. But, it was sunny outside and I was having a great day; therefore, the surprise attack of something so heinous and dark caught me off guard. I reviewed the services as I wrote them down, leaving out the last one, more for Harriet's dignity than my disgust. The receptionist reminded me again of "The anal glands". I swear I heard thunder roll outside. "Yes, that too" I sputtered. Harriet looked at me curiously, as if to say, "What? What too?" I spared her the dread and decided to let the groomer review the procedure for her. I am going to be the type of mother that hands her child a book when the "time" comes.
For the next two days, both Harriet and I looked forward to our upcoming appointments. I placed the small magnetic calendar that I received as a Christmas gift from my realtor at the bottom of the fridge, so that Ms. H could keep track of how many more days. (Disclaimer: I realize that dogs are not human and have no capacity for reading calendars, but acting as if they do makes life so much more fun, trust me.) She actually seemed excited and took special care not to get too dirty outside.
The morning of the appointment, as I sat drinking my coffee and planning my annual Blow-It-All birthday jackpot shopping spree, Harriet took her usual resting place (not a morning dog, at all), only glancing up at me every so often as I made my way around the house gathering coupons, lists, giftcards, and the like. Occassionally, I would hear a long sigh escape from under her shaggy beard. Finally, after I had everything in the car, I grabbed my keys and she sprung up, with a "WTF" look. She was confused because usually the morning ritual culminates into me picking up her limp dead weight body and placing it behind the baby gate, with promises to return home at lunch. Her look of betrayal said, "You forgot I existed, you bitch." I held up her leash and her joy was boundless. She ran to me, a wiggling loaf of bread, and I reminded her that today was "The Day"!
More confusion ensued as I encouraged her to ride shotgun. Normally, Harriet travels in a crate, but not today. Today, she would take the co-pilot seat. Although this was due more to my laziness and lack of desire to wrestle the crate from the garage; I allowed Ms. H to believe that it was all about her and her preference. She happily jumped in and off we went. As we rode along, listening to talk radio (Harriet does not enjoy music), I considered telling her about the anal gland issue. She settled into her seat and watched our progress on the navigation map and looked so happy and relaxed that I decided not to address it.
We arrived, I filled out the papers, she was weighed (like a weight watchers weigh in, in front of everyone. I caught the sideways glance at me, as if to say, "Now, your turn, Cookie"). I bid her farewell and began my day of decadence. I began at Target (my mecca) and was shocked that it took me 3 hours to wear out my giftcard. Satisfied with my haul, I left there and treated myself to Shrimp and Grits at Buckley's lunch box. I appreciate a quick lunch and this was the quickest ever. The dish was good, better in New Orleans, but satisfying. From there, I cruised over to Oak Court. I had an agenda there, at Macy's, but decided to make Macy's my last stop. After reviewing the offerings of Dillards, American Eagle, Trade Secret, and the like, I returned to Macy's with my special birthday coupon in my sweaty hand. I had my eye on a couple of purses. Actually, I had both eyes on one purse, a new patent candy colored Dooney and Bourke. With my birthday money plus my coupon, I still would have had to fork over nearly $100 for this prize, and I second, third, and fourth guessed my way out of it; settling instead for two confectionary purses from a mid level brand. Approaching the cash register, I whipped out my coupon and the clerk wished me a "Happy Birthday!", then told me to swipe my Macy's card. Thinking that was kind of presumptuous, I corrected her and showed her my wad of cash. "Oh, you have to use your Macy's card to get the discount". REALLY? Thanks, Macy's, for the non gift. I cut up that card months ago after bickering with a card representative over being double charged for some underwear on my statement. And really, for those that don't know, there is nothing more dignity depleting than arguing over drawers with someone wearing a headset. So, feeling a tad bit deflated, I made my way over to the Lush counter for my obligatory bath bomb purchases before heading out.
At this point, I received a text from a friend inviting me to grab a beer after shopping. I had one more stop to make (Fresh Market...hooray!) and then I knocked back two Dos Equis and spent the rest of the afternoon checking my watch, counting the minutes until I could pick up her majesty. When the alarm sounded, I collected my things and made a quick getaway. Driving over to the vet, I felt weird. I realized that in all of my 36 years, I had never felt the influence of alcohol in public before 4pm. Not that I was drunk, I wasn't, it was just strange to realize that I had truly just had a truly leisurely day. The sedative effect of the alcohol, combined with the stifling Memphis heat made me feel pleasantly sedate. I arrived at the vet and leaned over the counter to report that I was there to pick up Harriet. It was then that I had the realization that my breath may very well smell of beer. All of a sudden, I felt a panic that they would not let Harriet go home with someone who had obviously laid up drinking beer all day. As they paged Ms. H to the front, I envisioned a secret button being pushed under the desk, to alert the staff not to bring her up, but to instead call the police. I decided that I was being too social worky about it, and wondered if I had accidentally smoked pot. The vet tech came out moments later with a dog. Wait, who is that dog? I didn't recognize the shorn pup.
I slipped Harriet's new collar on and couldn't decide whether to bust out crying or laughing. She didn't look anything like the scruffy loaf I dropped off hours ago. This dog was sleek and clean. And compliant. I signed for her and paid her bill, hoping I had the right Harriet. As we left, I led her over to a grassy area, figuring she would want to sniff, and wanting a little more time to reassure myself that it was indeed, Ms H. Harriet wanted nothing to do with the grassy area, walking right over to the car as if to say, "Hurry. Let's go. They squeezed my ass. I don't want to file a report or anything, but I am just telling you because I think you should know. You just paid cash money to the people who squeezed my anal glands." Harriet climbed into the car and took her seat. I used this opportunity to snap a picture to send to my mom and my guy friend that this was actually Harriet.
Harriet was impatient with my lolly gagging, and was just ready to get the hell out of there. I asked her if, all in all, she enjoyed her day. She gave me a terse "phfffffft. whatever. yeah, kind of." and with that, I put the car in reverse and backed out of the space. Looking both ways before crossing the busy highway, I glanced once again at the new/old dog in my passenger seat. It must have been one hell of a day, and perhaps she ended it in the same fashion as I had...with a sedative:
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