bite,” the woman said as she positioned the rack off to the side and turned to face Paula.
Paula laughed and pointed at her. “Good one.”
“Yeah, well—dog humor,” the woman said, and held up both hands. “Goes with the territory. Bring…”—she bent over to glace at Fotis’ crotch—“him, too,” the woman said in a singsong voice, designed for animals. It worked. Fotis’ tail began wagging.
Paula felt a pang. He’d not wagged for her since the shelter.
The shop door was propped open with a vintage concrete cat. Paula had expected to smell cedar and pine bedding like Pet World, the place she’d worked in Queens after high school. She looked around for birdcages, listened for the chirp of a parakeet, but saw nothing but walls of color-sorted collars and leashes. Inside, another clerk stood arranging the wall of colorful dog jackets and looked up.
“Don’t you have any animals here?” Paula asked tentatively, marveling at the colorful merchandise. It looked like an upscale children’s boutique.
“No, we only cater to dogs and cats.”
Fotis seemed at ease.
“Wow.” The salesclerk placed her hands on her hips. She looked the dog over. “You’re a big boy, aren’t you,” she said in a goofy doggie voice. “Looks like someone’s hurting for a bath.” The woman squatted down eye level and then reached both hands out for Fotis to sniff. “Would you like to have him groomed? I just had a cancellation.”
Paula nodded. “Oh my God, yes. It’s a bath, isn’t it?” She figured it would be good to have him cleaned before dropping him off at Celeste’s.
“Absolutely. It’ll take me thirty minutes, maybe a bit more.” She looked at Paula. “He’s pretty rough.”
They both looked down at Fotis.
“You in a rush?”
Paula shrugged. “I guess not. A bath sounds perfect,” Paula agreed. “But I have to tell you that he bit an animal control officer.”
“Which one?”
Paula stared blankly at the groomer.
The dog’s ears lay back; his tail began to wiggle as he watched the woman.
“You’re kinda dirty,” the woman said in her baby voice. The other clerk stepped over and knelt down. “Let me see how it goes. If he gets agitated I can muzzle him. He’s got that ‘you-just-got-me-at-the-shelter’ look,’” the other clerk said, and knelt down, too.
Paula nodded. She checked her phone for messages. Nothing. She began dialing Guillermo’s number but then stopped. She should wait until she heard from Heavenly first.
“They usually bathe ’em and get ’em all cleaned up before adopting ’em out,” the woman said.
Paula was too exhausted to go through the whole story and just shrugged in response.
“You want a treat?” the woman asked Fotis.
Her intonation made his ears perk up.
The clerk grabbed a biscuit that looked like a miniature hamburger.
“Can you sit?” She raised her hand.
Fotis stared at the biscuit.
“Guess you don’t know that one, do ya,” she conceded, and handed the biscuit over anyway.
Fotis took the treat gently. It was gone in seconds; he looked at the woman for another.
“He takes it nicely,” she remarked to Paula as she nodded. “With some of the guys you could lose a finger.”
Paula checked the woman’s fingers.
“More dog humor,” she said.
Paula nodded. The clerks seemed genuinely caring.
“What’s his name?”
“Fotis.”
“Cool. Never heard that one before.”
“It’s Greek for ‘light.’” Paula nodded. “I like it,” she said, not wanting to explain that Tony or Celeste might change it. Guillermo would probably name him something Spanish. Tony had changed their dog’s name from Princeton to Humpty after they’d gotten him from the shelter. They called him the Hump.
The clerk looked back at the dog.
“Makes sense. Look at those bright, happy eyes.” She offered Fotis another treat. He took it again nicely, proving the first time wasn’t a fluke.
“Fotis needs a collar, too,” the other clerk
Paula laughed and pointed at her. “Good one.”
“Yeah, well—dog humor,” the woman said, and held up both hands. “Goes with the territory. Bring…”—she bent over to glace at Fotis’ crotch—“him, too,” the woman said in a singsong voice, designed for animals. It worked. Fotis’ tail began wagging.
Paula felt a pang. He’d not wagged for her since the shelter.
The shop door was propped open with a vintage concrete cat. Paula had expected to smell cedar and pine bedding like Pet World, the place she’d worked in Queens after high school. She looked around for birdcages, listened for the chirp of a parakeet, but saw nothing but walls of color-sorted collars and leashes. Inside, another clerk stood arranging the wall of colorful dog jackets and looked up.
“Don’t you have any animals here?” Paula asked tentatively, marveling at the colorful merchandise. It looked like an upscale children’s boutique.
“No, we only cater to dogs and cats.”
Fotis seemed at ease.
“Wow.” The salesclerk placed her hands on her hips. She looked the dog over. “You’re a big boy, aren’t you,” she said in a goofy doggie voice. “Looks like someone’s hurting for a bath.” The woman squatted down eye level and then reached both hands out for Fotis to sniff. “Would you like to have him groomed? I just had a cancellation.”
Paula nodded. “Oh my God, yes. It’s a bath, isn’t it?” She figured it would be good to have him cleaned before dropping him off at Celeste’s.
“Absolutely. It’ll take me thirty minutes, maybe a bit more.” She looked at Paula. “He’s pretty rough.”
They both looked down at Fotis.
“You in a rush?”
Paula shrugged. “I guess not. A bath sounds perfect,” Paula agreed. “But I have to tell you that he bit an animal control officer.”
“Which one?”
Paula stared blankly at the groomer.
The dog’s ears lay back; his tail began to wiggle as he watched the woman.
“You’re kinda dirty,” the woman said in her baby voice. The other clerk stepped over and knelt down. “Let me see how it goes. If he gets agitated I can muzzle him. He’s got that ‘you-just-got-me-at-the-shelter’ look,’” the other clerk said, and knelt down, too.
Paula nodded. She checked her phone for messages. Nothing. She began dialing Guillermo’s number but then stopped. She should wait until she heard from Heavenly first.
“They usually bathe ’em and get ’em all cleaned up before adopting ’em out,” the woman said.
Paula was too exhausted to go through the whole story and just shrugged in response.
“You want a treat?” the woman asked Fotis.
Her intonation made his ears perk up.
The clerk grabbed a biscuit that looked like a miniature hamburger.
“Can you sit?” She raised her hand.
Fotis stared at the biscuit.
“Guess you don’t know that one, do ya,” she conceded, and handed the biscuit over anyway.
Fotis took the treat gently. It was gone in seconds; he looked at the woman for another.
“He takes it nicely,” she remarked to Paula as she nodded. “With some of the guys you could lose a finger.”
Paula checked the woman’s fingers.
“More dog humor,” she said.
Paula nodded. The clerks seemed genuinely caring.
“What’s his name?”
“Fotis.”
“Cool. Never heard that one before.”
“It’s Greek for ‘light.’” Paula nodded. “I like it,” she said, not wanting to explain that Tony or Celeste might change it. Guillermo would probably name him something Spanish. Tony had changed their dog’s name from Princeton to Humpty after they’d gotten him from the shelter. They called him the Hump.
The clerk looked back at the dog.
“Makes sense. Look at those bright, happy eyes.” She offered Fotis another treat. He took it again nicely, proving the first time wasn’t a fluke.
“Fotis needs a collar, too,” the other clerk
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