In theory, I know that we should love one another and that all different shapes, sizes and hair types are beautiful. Diversity is what makes the world a fabulous place. However, when I remove my idealistic rose-colored spectacles the truth emerges….I’m a breedist. No matter how much I try, there are just some breeds I can’t help but cringe in disgust and horror at their mention. Somewhere hidden in a private sector of my psyche is a list has been drafted….”Breeds The Should Be Drowned At Birth.” Of course American cocker spaniels are #1 and fighting for space in the top five amongst such genetic short comings as wheatens, jack russells and beagles lie Chihuahuas. Hence one can imagine my great urge to burn a sombrero in protest and disgust, when the prospect of two of these vile vermin boarding for well over a month was brought to my attention.
The all mighty dollar of course won out over my breedist hate and a slight bit of hope glimmered when it was noted that the pair were bi-breedal. However, it dissipated quickly as it was realized that the other half was most likely jack russell. As the two pint sized loud mouths, barked, growled and squirmed in their mother’s clutches, curses were uttered under my breath, as I was certain this would be the longest month of my existence.
The abominations known as Gilligan and Ginger came with enough supplies to build their own island. A barrage of potty pads, treats, stuffed animals, houses, blankets and instructions were dramatically imparted as their mother sobbed at the prospect of leaving these creatures all for a measly European cruise. As the telenovelas continued I just keep hearing “three hour tour….a three hour tour” in my head. Finally, she left and quietly I went about my day without another thought since the groomer closing would be doing the nightly walk (of course these vermin only use potty pads according to their mother) and feeding. I wouldn’t have to acknowledge their existence again until morning.
Barring some anomaly in the universe, at the stroke of 7:10am I’m the first one through the shop door. Even prior to turning the lock, tiny howls and barks of protest could be heard across the parking lot. I rolled my eyes and went to spy the fiends. Although a breedist, I’m not without basic sympathies and decided that despite my preconceived notions I’d attempt to take the rats out for a potty break. That is if they would allow me to exhume and handle them. I had some doubts as Gilligan shot me a concerning glance.
Expecting a kennel aggression issue, I sat on the floor, slip leads in hand and opened the cage door. Instantly, I found two wiggling blobs on my lap and taking the liberty to wash my face. Before a giggle could sneak out, I caught myself and decided to see if these brilliant specimens would be able to walk on a leash. Fastened up, the pair happily shimmied to the grass and used the facilities. After reliving themselves and enjoying nature for a few minutes I brought them back in for playtime and some refreshment.
I brought out the F.A.O Schwartz that had accompanied them, but all the little creatures wanted was my lap. Making certain no one was around; I sat there, two rats on my lap, making sweet talk as I fed them from my hand. However knowing the chaos of clients being brought in and the grooming day beginning our private session was cut short. Officially being branded a sucker, I put their special little house in the huge kennel in the bathroom. That way they could have the most space and privacy. I think they appreciated as them happily jaunted right in on their own accord.
Time of course didn’t stand still, for our forbidden, secret love. Each morning I had my time with the “Wa Wa’s.” We cuddled, got massages and treats. Every time a bathroom break was taken, a few pets and snuggles were stolen through the kennel grate. I dare say the little buggers were kind of cute. So I was in awe when the final day of their visit was upon us, and their departure was bittersweet.
Pictures were shared with mom of all their fun and escapades. I made sure she knew that Gilligan gets his massage first; otherwise he pushes Ginger off my lap. Oh and that Ginger likes her water fresh prior to being fed by hand, with a dessert following of the Pupperoni she had provided. My coworkers smirked and giggled.
Knowing of my love of both Chihuahuas and jack russells, one could not resist a slight jab at my crumbling façade after their departure. Like a true, hard headed breedist, I did what I could to save face. “Well, technically they were mutts!!!”