The Misadventures of Rat-Dog

Well, it looks like my little doggy Lola may be finally back to normal.

If you are unaware, a week and a half ago, she had to go to the groomers. When I say she had to go, I mean that she was one huge tangle of frizzy, dry, smelly fur. Her nails resembled that guy from India who hasn't cut his fingernails in like 55 years and wears a burlap sack on his hand to protect them. (protect them??? I'm pretty sure the mental health authorities should be getting involved in the reasons why he has neglected this small yet important hygiene issue and why freaks like me say things like, "Craig, don't change the channel!!! After the commercial they are showing this guy with totally disgusting fingernails! They're all curly and yellow and brown and I HAVE to see them!!")

Anyway, Lola goes to the groomer. It is called Hollywood Dogs. Call me an optimist but when I picked them from the yellow pages I imagined pink walls, black marble floors and leashes with bling for sale. I imagined Lola would emerge with a posh attitude, pink ribbons in her hair and a diamond choker surrounding her now graceful neck whilst smelling of Chanel No. 5 or the doggy equivalent. Cut to reality: tiny room in a industrial park, odd sized dog crates stacked perilously close to the ceiling, hair from previous doggy customers everywhere and a blue bathtub circa 1954 stuck in the wall. The groomer appears in front of me from out of nowhere, as the creepy guy always does in horror films. Obviously this lady has devoted her life to the grooming of animals and has forgotten that people can also do some basic grooming. Her teeth were varying shades of beige, brown, yellow and I swear there was a tint of green in there too. I tried to look her in the eye, I promise, but my gaze kept slipping south while a little voice repeated over and over in my head "how long do you have to forget to brush your teeth for that to happen??"

She promises she will take good care of Lola. I know by this time you are probably screaming, "don't do it, don't leave her there". I wish I could say I didn't but...I did. She was a tangled mess and I figured a quick shave and she'd be fine.

Two hours later I get a call that she's ready to be picked up. One week later, Lola refuses to get out of her crate when I'm home alone. She sits in there all day and pouts. When Craig and Emily come home she is ecstatic, jumping, snuggling, eating (I told you, she won't come out when I'm home, so no eats or drinks during the day...totally cutting off her nose to spite her face). She voices her displeasure with me and my decision making ability by pooping on my side of the bed, not once, but twice. This is the only time she comes out of her crate when I'm home, to crap on my bed.

Fast forward 11 days. She is now back to normal but looks like a slightly overgrown rat. A rat with a ginormous bobble head. I don't know what Teethy did to her while she was there but obviously it wasn't pleasant.

Looking back, I see that Lola has learned something from going to Hollywood Dogs. She has officially asserted herself as a damsel from 1940's movies by pouting, acting like a martyr, manipulating and cozying up to Craig.