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Arf 'n' Arf
22 June 2009 01:05They played to their strengths. Steve was great at teaching the dogs to have manners and obey commands. Pierre was a wizard with the brush and scissors. The opened up a dog-grooming salon with an obedience training kennel in the back yard. They sunk all their savings into the place and business was great.
They called it Arf ‘n’ Arf.
My dog was a hairy cross-breed that came up to my armpits. The tangled dreadlocks of its matted hide stank of park-rolled carcasses. It was more of a bear than a mutt. It had more in common with a Sasquatch than a schnauzer. And he was willful. Not mean, exactly, but impulsive. If he wanted to eat, he chewed the door off of the kitchen cupboard and helped himself. When he wanted to go for a walk, he howled by the door until I relented.
I loved him. His name was Nate.
I took Nate to Arf ‘n’ Arf on Thursday. Steve and Pierre took one look at Nate and nodded in silence. They knew they were looking at their greatest challenge yet. If they succeeded in making Nate presentable to the public, he would be their masterpiece. Steve muttered that it would take some schedule juggling. Pierre said that it would take six days. They both said they’d do it for free if they could use the before and after pictures for their advertising.
I said yes. I went back to my apartment and cleaned it from top to bottom.
It took more than six days. It took four months. Steve and Pierre were both driven insane. They didn’t sleep. They started drinking. Every day only illuminated how much more work was ahead of them. Eventually, they obsessed themselves into bankruptcy. Steve moved out of town. Pierre left a cackling, tear-soaked drunken message on my answering machine that he was a failure. He went missing soon after that. No one’s seen him since.
They had each only completed half of their work with Nate when I picked him up. Steve had started at the front and Pierre had started at the back.
Nate no longer howled, barked, or begged. His front legs were now very well behaved. When he sat down, his front legs crossed politely in front of him. They didn’t scratch anything and they obeyed my every command. A cat could cross right in front of him and his front legs wouldn’t even twitch. His face, however, was still lost in a mess of twig-riddled, stinking fur. His front paws were still caked with mud. His unclipped, yellow claws ticked and scrabbled on the hardwood floor. The front half of him was still moist and dank.
His back legs were a different story. Pierre had indeed worked a miracle. From the tip of his tail up until his midriff, Nate’s coat was a dazzling amber. I had no idea that Nate was a redhead underneath all that garbage and feces-matted hair. His sleek, muscled body was perfectly defined by the lustrous coat of ginger. His tail arched out like a brand-new whip of red licorice. Those rear claws were perfectly manicured.
His back legs and tail still had no training, though. They would start to gallop if a squirrel happened by. They had a mind of their own. They obeyed Nate’s every passing thought. They lashed out at passing dogs. Nate’s legendary gas was just as bad if not worse. He still pissed on a whim wherever he was. His tail cleared every nearby table of glasses.
Nate turned into a wonderful walking contradiction of an animal. I loved him even more. I believe Steve and Pierre would have looked on him as a failure but in my heart I hope that they know that I think he was their greatest success.
tags
They called it Arf ‘n’ Arf.
My dog was a hairy cross-breed that came up to my armpits. The tangled dreadlocks of its matted hide stank of park-rolled carcasses. It was more of a bear than a mutt. It had more in common with a Sasquatch than a schnauzer. And he was willful. Not mean, exactly, but impulsive. If he wanted to eat, he chewed the door off of the kitchen cupboard and helped himself. When he wanted to go for a walk, he howled by the door until I relented.
I loved him. His name was Nate.
I took Nate to Arf ‘n’ Arf on Thursday. Steve and Pierre took one look at Nate and nodded in silence. They knew they were looking at their greatest challenge yet. If they succeeded in making Nate presentable to the public, he would be their masterpiece. Steve muttered that it would take some schedule juggling. Pierre said that it would take six days. They both said they’d do it for free if they could use the before and after pictures for their advertising.
I said yes. I went back to my apartment and cleaned it from top to bottom.
It took more than six days. It took four months. Steve and Pierre were both driven insane. They didn’t sleep. They started drinking. Every day only illuminated how much more work was ahead of them. Eventually, they obsessed themselves into bankruptcy. Steve moved out of town. Pierre left a cackling, tear-soaked drunken message on my answering machine that he was a failure. He went missing soon after that. No one’s seen him since.
They had each only completed half of their work with Nate when I picked him up. Steve had started at the front and Pierre had started at the back.
Nate no longer howled, barked, or begged. His front legs were now very well behaved. When he sat down, his front legs crossed politely in front of him. They didn’t scratch anything and they obeyed my every command. A cat could cross right in front of him and his front legs wouldn’t even twitch. His face, however, was still lost in a mess of twig-riddled, stinking fur. His front paws were still caked with mud. His unclipped, yellow claws ticked and scrabbled on the hardwood floor. The front half of him was still moist and dank.
His back legs were a different story. Pierre had indeed worked a miracle. From the tip of his tail up until his midriff, Nate’s coat was a dazzling amber. I had no idea that Nate was a redhead underneath all that garbage and feces-matted hair. His sleek, muscled body was perfectly defined by the lustrous coat of ginger. His tail arched out like a brand-new whip of red licorice. Those rear claws were perfectly manicured.
His back legs and tail still had no training, though. They would start to gallop if a squirrel happened by. They had a mind of their own. They obeyed Nate’s every passing thought. They lashed out at passing dogs. Nate’s legendary gas was just as bad if not worse. He still pissed on a whim wherever he was. His tail cleared every nearby table of glasses.
Nate turned into a wonderful walking contradiction of an animal. I loved him even more. I believe Steve and Pierre would have looked on him as a failure but in my heart I hope that they know that I think he was their greatest success.
tags