A Day in the Life, Part 2

“Alex, Mrs. Belvedere is here for Dylan.”

The sudden voice over the intercom almost caused Alex to cut Dixie the poodle’s nose off. Swearing under her breath and kissing the poodle in apology, she quickly unhooked the dog and carried her into the kennel area. After making sure Dixie was comfortable on a blanket in her kennel, Alex sank down to regard Dylan the Old English Sheepdog as he peered through the bars of his own kennel. He definitely was a sight. Gone were the dreadlocks and felted coat. Dylan was now a shaved dog, naked as the day he was born. Probably more so, since she’d almost had to use a surgical blade to finish his underbelly and neck. All things considered, it could have been much worse. He was a nicely built sheepdog, with muscular legs and a lean build. Once his coat grew in a bit he would look very handsome in his puppy cut. Whether or not Alex herself would ever see it remained a slim possibility. She still had to show him to his owner, who would probably refuse to pay and try to sue for defamation of puppy dog.

She sighed, a frustrated sound that shook her slight frame. God, she hated being the bad guy. As if removing all that skanky hair had been a bad thing. The look on Dylan’s face when he was fully awake after sedation had been bemused rather than fearful or agressive, and he’d immediately begun licking his paws and sides enthusiastically. He had let her pet him without protest, loving a massage that actually touched his skin. It had been when he looked up at her that she’d realized he had one blue eye and one brown one. Too cute. “Okay, bud. Let’s go get this over with. And it’s been nice working with you if I never see you again.” Unhooking the door, Alex attached Dylan’s blue and gold leash to his matching collar- which she'd had to wrestle to it's smallest size now that the three inch thick matts were gone- and led him towards the front.


In the reception area Mrs. Belvedere waited, impatiently clicking the heel of her red pump against the tile floor. She held herself tall in her tailored armani pant suit and glared at the door her dog would rush through. She knew that her anger was rolling off in waves by the way the receptionists carefully refused to glance at her. She found herself unable to care just then. Yes, it was a fact that her Dylan had been behind in his grooming. She really couldn’t deny it when it came right down to it. But the way that arrogant girl had so casually announced that her dog was to be shaved and that they would put him under the gas to do it was obnoxious. Not even giving her the dignity of a choice. And then when she’d asked about Dylan’s last groomer, well the lie had just flown from her lips without thought. She just knew the groomer was looking down her nose thinking, now here is a woman who neglects her dog. She just knew they thought badly of her. And it hurt because she wasn’t one to let things go. No, everything in her life was structured, orderly. It was just that ever since, well, it had been a bad time ever since. Life had gotten away for a bit, and for a woman who liked control and predictability, it stood to reason that she’d be a little more stressed and reactive than a normal person. So if they couldn’t understand her anger, was that her fault? She didn’t think so.

Mrs. Belvedere couldn’t suppress a cry of dismay as the door opened and Dylan galloped up to her, dragging the groomer behind him.

“He looks ridiculous!” Mrs. Belvedere turned the stab of guilt into a needle sharp dagger pointed at her only obvious target. “How could you do this to my Dylan-doodle?” she cried, falling to her knees as the dog gamboled around her like a pup, darting in to happily slobber her cheek with his rough tongue.

Alex swallowed her irritation and said mildly, “Ma’am I did the best I could. Dylan was severely matted. I’d like you to know, though, that I was able to shave most of him without any sedation. He really settled down after we got started. I only needed sedation to do his head and neck.” Not that you care anyway. Why do I bother to try and make these people feel better? She’s the one who let him go.

My Harry must be rolling over in his grave right now. Mrs. Belvedere barely heard what the girl was going on about as her late husband’s face swam into sharp focus in her mind.

“Ginny,” he’d said, shortly after being diagnosed with lung cancer, “you’ll need someone to take care of you when I’m gone.” And despite her horrified protests he’d presented her with a little black and white ball of fluff. Dylan had quickly stolen her heart, especially when she saw the bond between Harry and the pup. Every night that they could that year the three of them had snuggled on the couch, an oasis in a sea of doctors and chemo and terror. And as long as he wasn’t too weak or violently ill from another round of something, Harry had brushed the pup faithfully. He had laughingly called those sessions his tonic. Seeing the light in his eye, she’d agreed with him. For a year. And then, well, she had dropped the ball, now, hadn’t she. The old couch had turned into a hiding place and Dylan’s wooly neck a sanctuary from her grief. And now she’d gone and lost even that.

Alex tried to hold onto a neutral expression as the woman on the floor dissolved into tears. For God’s Sake, it was just a haircut! It all grows back, she wanted to snap. Shaving it all off is a hell of a lot better than tearing through the matts, leaving bruises and brush burn and a traumitized dog, don’t you think? She might have said that if it had been someone else. Someone who was even willing to acknowledge her presence. But saying anything like that now would likely turn a bad situation worse.

At least the room was empty, except for the wide-eyed receptionists who were squirming in their seats. Still, there was something about Mrs. Belvedere, the way she knelt there in her expensive suit letting the ungainly sheepdog wash the tears away with his kisses that seemed different. This morning she’d seemed arrogant and uncooperative. Right now she seemed simply defeated. Defeated and sad. With a quick inner prayer and a rub of the worry stone she was clutching in the pocket of her pawprint grooming smock, Alex knelt down beside the older lady. She held one arm out to fend off the dog who this morning had tried to eat her hand. “Mrs. Belvedere, I know Dylan‘s haircut is a shock,” she said quietly. “I really did the best I could, and he was a really good boy for most of it. I think if he were to come back on a regular schedule, we could grow his coat out and keep it long with no trouble. Just let me know what you’d like to do.” She fell silent, waiting for the explosion, hoping for anything else.

Mrs. Belvedere sniffed delicately as she dabbed at her eyes and nose with the handkerchief she had pulled from within her sleeve. It seemed to her that a change was in order. “Ginny,” her Harry had always said. “You never get anywhere if you don’t start somewhere.” Yes, what the groomer said had merit. Maybe Dylan’s shocking condition was just what she’d needed to get back on the right track. She allowed the girl to help her to her feet, not quite able to look her in the eye or smile. “So, what do you recommend for his schedule?” she asked, sounding sharper than she had intended.

Alex was silently thanking the fates for her good luck in saying what seemed to be the right thing. She gave the woman her recommendation and helped her set up future appointments with the receptionists, holding Dylan’s leash as Mrs. Belvedere paid without commenting on the price. The older lady paused on her way out the door that Alex held open for her and for the first time looked right at her with overly bright green eyes. “You know, I believe my Harry would have liked you,” she said accusingly. Then she let herself be dragged off by her unruly dog, leaving Alex to wonder if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Oh well, she thought as she headed back to Dixie the poodle. She had eight weeks before she needed to know.

A Day in the Life, Part 1

I don’t know why I bother. Do I have the word “SCHMUCK” tattooed on my forehead? I didn’t see one when I put on my makeup this morning. I guess it could have happened when I hit the floor over the price of my latest shampoo purchase. Did you know that now they put actual gold in dog shampoo? They must if they expect me to pay what they’re asking. Anyway, the point is that my “SCHMUCK” tattoo was firmly in place by the time old Mrs. Belvedere walked in. She was tall and well dressed, an older businesswoman with a determined glint in her eye. This was a new client and one look made my heart just sink through the floor. Looking at the dog it was easy to see why. An growling Old English Sheepdog the size of my sister’s horse was crouching behind her, trying to pull her back out the front door, and I could see the bunchy matts hanging off his coat from across the room. I just knew what was coming, so I fixed my “I’m a nice confident pet groomer you can’t walk all over” smile on my face and headed over to introduce myself.


She looked down her nose at me and said, “Dylan needs to have a bit of a brush. I haven‘t had time to get to it these past couple weeks. I really don’t think he needs a bath so much as a good comb through.”

Yeah right, lady. That’s gonna happen! Did you happen to notice the dreadlocks covering that dog? If you’ve picked up a brush in the last year I’ll quit my job today and become and accountant. I wondered- could she see my head getting ready to explode.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s just see where his coat’s at.” I knelt down to feel what I already knew was a felt sweater. Darling Dylan gave me a wide tooth grin and tried to snap my fingers off before I could touch him. Mrs. Belvedere held his head for me (ha-ha he hasn’t had his morning romp yet) and I managed to sneak a feel of his hind end. I made a show of feeling for matts- the whole dog was one big matt. “Well,” I said, “I don’t think I will be able to save his coat, ma’am. He’s pretty severely matted. He’ll have to be shaved.” As she drew herself up to her full height to veto that idea I added, “And he’s probably not going to let me work with him. I’d like to have the vet sedate him.” You would have thought I’d said we were going to shoot him then and there. Her face went completely pale and she started shouting. “I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU WANT TO SEDATE MY SWEET DYLAN-DOODLE” I kid you not, she said Dylan-Doodle. “HE HAS NEVER BEEN TREATED LIKE A- A- A DANGEROUS DOG! MY LAST GROOMER ADORED HIM!”

“Well,” I said through my clenched teeth, “Why didn’t you call your regular groomer for an appointment?”

“SHE HAS A BAD BACK AND CAN’T DO SHEEPDOGS ANYMORE!”

Yeah right. Smart girl, that groomer. I wonder if she recommended me as a replacement? What did I ever do to her? So I said as Mrs. Belvedere stopped to take a breath, “I’m sorry but if Dylan stays here today he’s getting shaved. I’ll be happy to try it without sedation, but you’ll have to sign a release form in case the vet needs to sedate him. If you want him to have a full coat he’ll have to come back for a bath every month at least once he grows out a little, probably every two weeks. It’s up to you .” She stood there staring at me, red in the face, mouth gaping like a large mouth bass. I stared back with my hands fisted behind my back and my eyes glazed. God I hate confrontation. I read somewhere that in a battle of wills the first one to break down and talk loses. I wasn’t brushing out a matted dog that wanted to kill me, so I kept my mouth shut. Seconds went by. Finally, she spoke. “Well I suppose if you only take half off- a puppy cut-”

“It’s all or nothing, Mrs. Belvedere. I can’t brush out those mats. It would hurt Dylan way too much.” Silence. I never knew how loud the office clock ticked.  But I'd heard somewhere that the first person to break the silence was always the one to cave, and I bit my lip hard while I stared at her patent leather shoes.  I'm not looking at you! I’m not caving this time! I want my back and my shoulders and especially my fingers in one piece this afternoon!

After what seemed like forever, success!  The woman kind of wilted like a water starved rose. “Oh fine. Do what you have to. I’ll be back at twelve for him.”

“I’ll have him ready at three, Mrs. Belvedere.” I knew I was pushing it, but he needed time to wake up from his sedation. “And don’t forget to sign the release form with the receptionist.” She glared at me and I swear she was imagining my very painful death. But she tossed the leash at me without a word and stalked over to the front desk. I won! Dylan was getting shaved, and I got to keep my sanity!

As the door slammed behind her I almost did a little dance. Almost. Dylan, if I could see past the matt hanging over his eyes, was definitely glaring at me. Sigh. Let’s get started, shall we? When I tugged on his leash he tugged back with a warning rumble. And do you know, as I stood there trying to come up with a plan to win the next battle in the War of the Matted Sheepdog, a young woman in a business suit came through the door with a tiny Maltese in her arms. She took one look at me in my grooming smock and said, somewhat sarcastically, “It must be nice to play with dogs all day for a living.”