said as she sized up Fotis’ neck. “Let’s try twenty inches.” She began rustling through the racks of hanging collars, all sorted by color and pattern.
“You want a buckle, snap, limited slip collar?” She handed Paula a red and white ruffled polka-dotted shopping basket.
She hadn’t the faintest idea.
“Buckles are better,” the woman answered her own question.
“Then buckles it is,” Paula said.
“Any particular color?”
Paula shrugged. “I don’t know, blue for boy?” She had no clue.
“I was thinking maybe red.” The woman put the collar on Fotis. It fit.
“It sets off his coat nicely and his one blue eye. Cool. I like it,” the woman said. “What do you think?”
Her thinking faculties had shut down. But Paula nodded nonetheless. Fotis looked at her.
“You’re such a pretty boy,” the woman said. Fotis wagged and wiggled.
There it was again. Apparently Paula didn’t speak “dog.”
“Looks like a collie and some kind of big husky cross,” the woman observed. “Double coat, the shape of his head and set of his tail. He’s so dirty it’s hard to tell what color he is. What do you think?” She turned and looked at Paula.
Paula thought nothing.
“Here’s the matching lead.” The clerk tossed it into the shopping basket, too.
The groomer reached to take the rope from Paula.
“Okay, big guy, bath time.”
Paula reluctantly handed it over
“What’ll she do to him?” Paula asked, watching the dog being marched off to the grooming station in the back room.
“Oh.” The clerk smiled. “It’s just a bath. A brushing. Not the firing squad—he already dodged that. Blow drying. She’ll trim his nails, brush out those matted areas.”
“Can I go in there with him?” Paula asked.
“It’s better if you don’t. They get agitated if they see their doggie mom.”
Doggie mom.
“Hey,” the woman distracted Paula. “Let’s pick out some essentials; is this your first dog?”
Paula nodded.
“Then how ’bout after we shop I make you a complimentary cappuccino or latte to celebrate while you wait?”
“Deal.” Thank God, Paula thought. “Latte would be great.”
“Uhhh—I’d say you need two good brushes.” The clerk grabbed one that looked like a garden rake and then a second that looked more like a metal comb. “He seems really good-natured. Be sure to use this one”—she held up the rake—“to get out matted fur.” She chucked both into the basket. “What’s he been eating?”
Paula shrugged again, questioning her own judgment.
“Here’s a small bag of food to try—easy on the stomach.” The clerk placed it in the shopping basket. “Pooper-scooper.” The woman threw a long plastic-looking spoon into the basket. “Dog bed.” The woman snapped her fingers. She lifted a fluffy rectangle from where they’d been stacked.
“Now some toys—”
Toys? Christ.
“You’ll need a crate.”
The woman directed Paula’s attention to wire boxes that looked like prison cells.
“Mmm.” Paula shook her head. “Don’t think so.”
“A lot of dogs like them,” the woman advised. “It simulates the den.”
“No thanks.”
“Makes them feel safe,” the woman offered.
Paula shook her head no. The clerk was bordering on pushy.
“It’ll help with house training while you’re gone,” the woman said in a last-bid effort to persuade.
Paula gave her the Back off look.
The clerk shrugged. “Okay.” Paula had been warned; the clerk was absolved of all responsibility for chewing and “soiling.”
House training. Paula had not thought of that.
“Some treats then, bowls for water, food.” The clerk snapped her fingers again, mentally checking off the list for start-up homes. She picked up two white ceramic bowls with cobalt calligraphy that said “nourriture pour Chien” and “Chien d’ eau.”
“This’ll get you started.” She looked at Paula.
The computer beeped as the merchandise was being tallied.
“Got his shelter
“You want a buckle, snap, limited slip collar?” She handed Paula a red and white ruffled polka-dotted shopping basket.
She hadn’t the faintest idea.
“Buckles are better,” the woman answered her own question.
“Then buckles it is,” Paula said.
“Any particular color?”
Paula shrugged. “I don’t know, blue for boy?” She had no clue.
“I was thinking maybe red.” The woman put the collar on Fotis. It fit.
“It sets off his coat nicely and his one blue eye. Cool. I like it,” the woman said. “What do you think?”
Her thinking faculties had shut down. But Paula nodded nonetheless. Fotis looked at her.
“You’re such a pretty boy,” the woman said. Fotis wagged and wiggled.
There it was again. Apparently Paula didn’t speak “dog.”
“Looks like a collie and some kind of big husky cross,” the woman observed. “Double coat, the shape of his head and set of his tail. He’s so dirty it’s hard to tell what color he is. What do you think?” She turned and looked at Paula.
Paula thought nothing.
“Here’s the matching lead.” The clerk tossed it into the shopping basket, too.
The groomer reached to take the rope from Paula.
“Okay, big guy, bath time.”
Paula reluctantly handed it over
“What’ll she do to him?” Paula asked, watching the dog being marched off to the grooming station in the back room.
“Oh.” The clerk smiled. “It’s just a bath. A brushing. Not the firing squad—he already dodged that. Blow drying. She’ll trim his nails, brush out those matted areas.”
“Can I go in there with him?” Paula asked.
“It’s better if you don’t. They get agitated if they see their doggie mom.”
Doggie mom.
“Hey,” the woman distracted Paula. “Let’s pick out some essentials; is this your first dog?”
Paula nodded.
“Then how ’bout after we shop I make you a complimentary cappuccino or latte to celebrate while you wait?”
“Deal.” Thank God, Paula thought. “Latte would be great.”
“Uhhh—I’d say you need two good brushes.” The clerk grabbed one that looked like a garden rake and then a second that looked more like a metal comb. “He seems really good-natured. Be sure to use this one”—she held up the rake—“to get out matted fur.” She chucked both into the basket. “What’s he been eating?”
Paula shrugged again, questioning her own judgment.
“Here’s a small bag of food to try—easy on the stomach.” The clerk placed it in the shopping basket. “Pooper-scooper.” The woman threw a long plastic-looking spoon into the basket. “Dog bed.” The woman snapped her fingers. She lifted a fluffy rectangle from where they’d been stacked.
“Now some toys—”
Toys? Christ.
“You’ll need a crate.”
The woman directed Paula’s attention to wire boxes that looked like prison cells.
“Mmm.” Paula shook her head. “Don’t think so.”
“A lot of dogs like them,” the woman advised. “It simulates the den.”
“No thanks.”
“Makes them feel safe,” the woman offered.
Paula shook her head no. The clerk was bordering on pushy.
“It’ll help with house training while you’re gone,” the woman said in a last-bid effort to persuade.
Paula gave her the Back off look.
The clerk shrugged. “Okay.” Paula had been warned; the clerk was absolved of all responsibility for chewing and “soiling.”
House training. Paula had not thought of that.
“Some treats then, bowls for water, food.” The clerk snapped her fingers again, mentally checking off the list for start-up homes. She picked up two white ceramic bowls with cobalt calligraphy that said “nourriture pour Chien” and “Chien d’ eau.”
“This’ll get you started.” She looked at Paula.
The computer beeped as the merchandise was being tallied.
“Got his shelter
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