The criminal, a.k.a. Buddy, arrived with crate, leash, and a half bag of dog food. His ex-owner said a few harsh words and sped off down our driveway never looking back. I like dogs. I like them with short fur, cute pug faces, and quiet personalities. What I got was a wild, undisciplined, wooly mammoth! The felon eats shoes, furniture, books, toys, tassels from designer pillows and anything he can grab as he runs wildly through the house. Although he has a huge yard to use as a bathroom, he makes regular deposits in the living room. When he is exhausted, he flops lovingly on my feet or jumps into my lap like a sleepy toddler oblivious to his delinquency.
Buddy loves the outdoors. He frolics in the dewy morning grass until his white paws and muzzle turn a sick shade of green. He digs holes, like a bulldozer, and eats the dirt. Leaves, twigs, and burrs are drawn to his tangled coat like a magnet. He barks incessantly at anything and everything. The dog-training manual says he needs to be socialized! My husband says he needs a swat with the newspaper. I’m beginning to think he needs the Dog Whisperer. I called my daughter and tried to coerce her into taking the mutt back. She laughed and hung up on me. Now I get her voice mail.
As the weeks progressed, I tried to make “Swamp Thing” look and smell presentable. I used dog shampoo, Vidal Sassoon, and Aussie Moist. Nothing worked to make his white frizzy hair look clean, tame, and manageable. They say dogs resemble their owners. If that’s the case, God help me! After a quick look in the mirror, I made an appointment with a dog stylist.
I arrived at the grooming palace wondering if they could use a Chi on dog fur. I peered skeptically through large glass windows into the beauty salon. Posters on the wall listed services ranging from Spa la Carte to the Premium Package that included anal gland cleaning. (YUCK!) Eight stools sat two by two. The salon was full. A canine patron enjoying their celebrity treatment occupied each bench. Stylists clipped, combed, trimmed, and shaved the dogs working magic on their freshly washed fur. The pampered pets sat dreamily with glazed over eyes, lapping tongues, and wagging tails.
In gangster style, Buddy the Mouth began barking and growling our arrival. The Zen like atmosphere quickly turned to chaos. The receptionist looked us over. “What type of dog is this?” She asked curtly.
I was indignant. “"A Coton De Tulear",” I said giving her a cold stare.
She snatched the dog from my arms. “Be back in three hours.” She turned and stomped away through a set of windowless double doors in the back of the shop.
When I returned the receptionist greeted me with a list of products I needed to keep my pet looking his best. The grand total was a few dollars shy of a fortune. The stylist, who worked tirelessly for three hours, walked Buddy down the red carpet to greet me. I could hear the angels weep! It was a miracle. I almost doubted it was really my dog. He looked like a champion, a credit to his breed.
I’d like to say this is a Cinderella story. I’d like to say he won a blue ribbon in the local dog show. I’d like to say he was rewarded by the Dog Whisperer for good behavior on national TV. However, within two days Buddy looked like Swamp Thing again. His soft fluffy fur is matted and frizzy. He still eats shoes, furniture, books, toys, and tassels from designer pillows. He makes deposits in the living room on occasion.
On the flip side, there is something redeeming about him. He is loyal, loving, and clownish. I watched him stand on hind legs and dance in circles while autumn leaves swirled around him. He plays gently with my grandson and tolerates the cat. He is always under my feet, looking up at me with mischievous happy eyes.
My daughter called to ask how the criminals’ training is progressing. I laughed and hung up on her. When she called back, I put her in voice mail.
