Two Days Later
The fence in back appeared in good repair. Sam had given it a good going-over. Research had been accomplished on the hows and whats of animal grooming. The SPCA was happy to have another groomer resource and, once Elsie had proven herself capable, would be happy to include her card along with Pretty Paws in the pet folders. Elsie had even decided on a name for her business, and submitted a DBA (Doing Business As) form that named her enterprise ‘Bow to the Wow’. Pretty Paws was well established now, and Ms. Jane Haskins didn’t mind Elsie stepping in to take up the slack. Jane told Elsie that her background in salon work was helpful, but that there were a lot of differences in working with animals that she needed to learn. Most human customers didn’t bite or claw when you hit a particularly painful area. You had to know how to remove a tic safely and there were a number of warning signs of disease and abuse you had to learn, plus what to do about them. Jane struck Elsie as a bit on the cold and business-only side, but maybe that was from helping out a future competitor. The help was still welcomed.
Sam found out that the area did have a ‘cottage industry’ zoning with moderate limitations that mostly dealt with toxic waste, explosives, excessive noise and how many vehicles per hour in and out of the street would be involved.
Sam’s own business thoughts were gelling as well. He had a letter that he and Elsie collaborated on to be sent out to all the people in his not-so-little black book, announcing the changed fee schedule for his services going from favors (many that never were called in as they just weren’t needed) to dollars (hourly rates or ‘per vehicle’, depending on the need.
But those considerations were far overshadowed because today they’d bring in new life to their home. They couldn’t help but think that the house was glad to have a dog presence once more.
There was a nice little pet supply shop, family owned, where a shopping run yesterday had netted food, water and food bowls, small and large doggie beds, shampoo, flea collars, nail trimmers, collars and ID tags, leashes and a few rawhide bones.
The morning sip and nibble welcomed the dawn of a bigger family. Smiles were never forced in the past, but today they seemed to come easier and more frequently. On a side track at the table, Elsie said that they might want to start talking about ‘setting the date’ for their wedding. Sam agreed, but asked that they enjoy the current transition by itself for itself, and then do the same for their nuptials. But he did have one question on that matter. “Elsie? How do you feel about last names? Do you want to stay Partlow, or do you want to be called Mrs. Carney? I’m OK either way.”
“Hmmm. Elsie Carney, Elsie Partlow, Elsie Carney…wow. It feels strange to think about. You want to be Sam Partlow?”
“I’ve heard some men are doing that. No, my name has recognition as a business asset and it’d be unwise to lose that. Well, we brought it up. We can talk about it when we’ve a mind to. Speaking of names, how about Fawn and Jigsaw? They’re used to them, and I like the names. Fits them, anyway. Thoughts?”
Elsie had no need to throw more confusion into their new pets’ lives. ‘Let it ride’ was the agreed upon tactic for name changing of any kind that day.
Nine o’clock rolled around and Elsie made the call to the SPCA. It took an annoying six tries to get past the voice mail option after no one picked up. Finally, Eustasia’s voice was achieved. “Oh, sorry about the delay. Early morning is pretty hectic here. Fawn and Jigsaw are all checked out, up to date, and ready to go.” Sam had a thought and asked about it. “Good one, Mr. Carney. No, you won’t need a carrier as long as you have a good collar and leash.
“You have one for each? Good. We’ll have their ID numbered tags you can clip onto the collar. Each has a number that’s registered to you in case one of them gets lost and found. Your bill will be one hundred and forty dollars when you get here, which will cover their shots, registration, precautionary deworming and vet check over.
“No, that’s both dogs included. Trust me. That’s the best deal you’re going to get. Vet bills are good reason to keep your pets exercised and eating right. Oh, I hear your, um, fiancée is going to be helping out here. Hold on. There’s a sticky note here.”
A minute later, “Back again. Orders from the director. Your bill comes to eighty dollars total if you can work the same magic you used on Fawn. We have a real tangled mess on our hands and the poor dear is miserable. We got some of the burrs and tangles out, but you help us and we’ll help you. Volunteers have to have some perks.”
Elsie said she’d be glad to help, as long as someone was there to help guide her on animal handling. That was assured and she was informed that it was a collie, near purebred, that was one of over thirty dogs that were rescued in Tennessee. The dogs were farmed out to shelters around the country on a rotating basis, which meant that some dogs or cats, or even horses, had to travel a nation’s width away to find food and shelter. The former owner was a ‘hoarder’. Sam and Elsie had both heard of that brand of mental illness.
En route, they stopped off at the Salon and picked up a hair detangler rinse and purchased a few other instruments of hair-emergency damage-control. They arrived at the shelter and agreed to tackle Scarecrow. It wasn’t a pretty name, but was a tradition to keep certain animals grouped to theme names when they came in either litters or in shipments of rescues. Scarecrow was all too well named, and one of four that arrived the day before, with the other three being Munchkin, Dorothy, and Auntie Em. The latter three were short-hairs of various breeds. Only Scarecrow needed more expert hands.
Elsie, after looking at the skin and bones animal, directed her helper to find her a place where they could rinse with warm water. Scarecrow had a bath the day before, which had helped some. Muzzle in place, the collie meekly allowed the two women to lift her into a large tub with a drain at the base. It was square and fairly large. In fact, it seemed to be about the same dimensions as…as the monster tub at home. Ideas began to roll in Elsie’s mind, which she hoped Sam wouldn’t mind.
The warm bath was soothing, but the knots had created areas where the skin was very sensitive. Touching those caused Scarecrow to whip his head around and nip at whatever it was that he felt was biting at him. Each such knot Elsie found was well beyond a simple detangler. Those had to be removed first. There was a scalpel-like device that was much safer to use, and could make short work of such knots with very little risk of slicing any skin. Each knot removed seemed to have a positive effect, to the point where Scarecrow didn’t nip anymore when one was found, but only shivered momentarily. Two dozen knots later, it was time for the detangling rinse. It took two applications and rinses, but the results were worth it. Sam was watching all the time, ready to lend a hand, but he wasn’t needed on this one. The ladies were doing just fine by themselves.
Scarecrow was blotted as dry as they could get him, then both used a hair dryer set on low to get the rest of the moisture out of the fur.
Trimming the hair that was left was kept to minimum as it helped hide the areas that were trimmed near to the dog’s skin. Otherwise, he would have looked like a walking demo of crop circles. It also helped hide the all too evident ribs and pelvic bones.
Her assistant was most pleased, and commiserated when Elsie said she’d like Scarecrow’s former owner to work on next. Alice said, “I’ll hold her, you Mohawk her.”
“Actually, I was thinking more along the corn row style. You can get them nice and tight when you use a crow bar.”
Elsie was given the honor of parading Scarecrow into the lobby. Eustasia was manning the desk and did a heartfelt “Oh, My God!” on seeing the transformed Scarecrow. Tom had been in earshot and came trotting out.
“Mother of pearl! Is that Scarecrow or Anorexic Lassie? Ms. Partlow, you’re an artiste!” There were six people in the waiting area. Three of them made sure to get the ‘artiste’s’ name before they left. When told Elsie Partlow hadn’t started her business yet, Eustasi
a at their urging started a waiting list. She would later add four pictures featuring Scarecrow and Fawn at the top of the ‘interest page’; a before and an after of each. That would be the list that would jump start Elsie’s new career.
Meanwhile, it was time to conclude the adoption process. Eustasia completed the transaction, though if it had been up to her, this one would have been a freebie. But the shelter needed funds, badly, as usual. Tom brought out the latest adoptees, giving the appropriate leash to each of the new owners, letting them know the new tags had been put on the collars they had brought and the flea collars had been likewise installed.
Both dogs got their traditional goodbye hugs from all available staff and volunteers, with applause by all as the four went out the door. It was one of those high points before they got back to their heartstring purgatory.
Sam drove and, at least for this time, Jigsaw rode shotgun. Elsie played ‘Miss Daisy’ in the back while Fawn waffled between being petted and seeing the sights. Once home, the new house members were given the tour of the house and then enjoyed tennis ball chasing competitions in the back yard.
In the days that followed, neighbors came to visit and were welcome to bring their dogs if they had any. Sam and Elsie felt it was wise to do so early on, before Fawn and Jigsaw became too territorial. Their back yard became the neighborhood dog romp. There were two that had aggressive tendencies, prompting their owners to seek the training required to acclimate their pets to better tolerance. The Romp, as it was eventually called, came to be a weekly event; every Tuesday evening, complete with pot luck, followed by a round-the-fireplace social hour.
Sam and Elsie prepared themselves for changes in their lives to being business owners. Elsie for the second time. Sam? He was harder to categorize, since he’d be doing what he did before, but getting actually paid to do it. But that story and the tale of their wedding is for another time. For now, we’ll leave the loving couple to enjoy life and love.
One More Time, Pet Project Page 3