The Blog of mamapolo

This morning I woke early and prepared to take the Corgii to their 8 am appointment at the Grooming Salon at PetSmart. I put on their collars and leashes, dug in my purse to make sure I could pay for the excursion - and no bank card!

Yikes. As I mentioned, I'm already restricted from accessing our joint account until I find the box of checks with both our names on them, and now no debit card?

My daughter offered hers and I took it, but just as I stepped out onto the porch, I felt a small pinch in my pants pocket, and there it was, the little rascal, right where I'd put it before I forgot I put it there.

I set out for PetSmart, but when I hit the main street outside our little neighborhood, I suddenly drew a blank. Was I going to the pet store near Aldi's Grocery, or the one near Target?

Silly, I thought. Of course, the one near Aldi's (they are at opposite ends of town, and two different chains). The further I drove in the direction of Aldi's, though, the less sure I became and halfway there I called PetSmart. You've already guessed that I was driving in the wrong direction. I apologized and said I'd be there ASAP.

It is incidents like this, occurring with increasing frequency, that led me to the conclusion that Buspar (anti-anxiety) was called for.

I took our chubby little Shetland-pony-like Corgis into the salon, shepherding them through the cacophony of WONDERFUL smells in the store - gerbils, mice, lizards, snakes, birds, fish, dog treats.

The groomer estimated two-and-a-half hours, which was approximately an hour and a half longer than I would have guessed, but okay. I came home and got ready myself and hassled Abby until she unrolled from her covers and set about her ablutions.

We went for breakfast, since neither of us had felt like dinner last evening, and as we were finishing, the groomer called my cell as arranged.

"Cassy and Clancy are finished," she said, but there was an undertone of stress in her voice.

"Were they good?" I asked cautiously.

"Well, yes," she answered with equal caution. "They were good - but I did Clancy first and put him in the kennel while I worked on Cassy, and, well, he went crazy."

"He went crazy?" Clancy is a wuss, to be sure, but if there are no fireworks, thunderstorms or gunshots to frighten him, he is usually quite sane, unlike his mistress at the present time.

"Yes - he pawed frantically at the door to the kennel, crying and whimpering to get out and get to Cassy. He actually broke open the kennel door, but in the process..." She paused.

"In the process, what?"

"He cut open his foot between two toes."

"Oh, no! Is he okay?"

"I think he'll be okay," she said without conviction.

Of course I stood up immediately, forcing our waitress to hurry over with the check, and we drove to PetSmart.

Clancy was tied to a table in the front of the salon, looking a bit like a just-apprehended felon, hand-cuffed and not entirely sober. He gave me the signature Corgi grin, though, and I could see no blood on his snowy paws.

The groomer went over and tied a bandana about his neck (it makes me a little annoyed that the bandana, which I paid for as part of the grooming service, was emblazoned with 'PetSmart.' Advertise on your own time!) and brought him over. He wasn't limping, and as I said, Clancy's a wuss. If he was hurting anywhere, he would whine and cry like the drama king he is.

An examination of his paws showed no visible wounds. No harm, no foul, I guess.

They brought Cassy out, with little Hallowe'en bows tied near her ears. She looked like a Goth dog. "If I had lips, I'd be wearing black lipstick." Unfortunately, the black-and-orange bows are too close to the color of her coat to show well in photos.

Abby and I were laughing on the way home about the fact that given Cassy's personality, bows in her hair are not exactly appropriate. We decided a black leather jacket was more the ticket.

We drove straight to the hospital and elicited a lot of odd looks as we paraded the bedecked and fluffy pups into the hospital, asking before boarding each elevator, "Anybody in here allergic?"

Folks would look and then do double-takes, then look at the two of us, with expressions that said, "You DO know this is a hospital, right?"

The Corgii got fussed over and admired and petted all the way to the third floor and my husband's room. He was sitting in the chair, looking much more alert and cheerful than even yesterday, when he looked far better than the day before.

He glowed when he saw the Corgis, and I was touched by their behavior. Normally boisterously affectionate, jumping up to put their paws on his knees, clamoring for attention, they were calm and quiet, nosing him gently. They seemed to understand perfectly that rough joy was not called for.

He petted them a bit, although he wore out very quickly, and fed them a couple of treats I had brought for the purpose. He didn't have his speaker in the trach, but he pantomimed admiration of Clancy's bandana and Cassy's bow.

He said he was tired, and I kissed him goodbye, and we left after about 45 minutes.

Pics of the Corgii in their post-grooming splendor in my albums, if you're interested. (Album Title - I feel pretty, oh, so pretty!)