Prologue
On Saturday, my friend Heather, who has until recently hated dogs with every fiber in her being, decided she would meet my dogs and give them a try. I told them both, "This is your one chance to shine! You've got one shot. Make me proud." I sent them out to her as though they were my children who were going to audition in front of George Lucas for the lead roles in the next installment of the Star Wars movies. I was nervous and anxious. Everything was going well. Reggie kept stepping on Heather's feet but that can't be avoided. (It does hurt though.) Annie was being really nice but she just kept shedding which, I thought, lacked basic manners. Nobody was jumping up onto her lap or trying to jump onto the porch swing next to her. We'd been working at this for months. I could almost smell success. And then it happened.
We had come inside and Reggie was happy. Heather reached a hand toward him to pet him. And then Reggie lifted up his little white paw...and ran his claws down her naked leg. She shrieked in pain and I knew we had failed. It was over. My shame was complete. One chance Reggie...that's all we had and you blew it.
The Drama
So, on Monday I decided to don my dog groomer/veterinary assistant cap and take care of the dogs. It was time to clip nails and tend to ear infections. I got out my trusty clippers. Me and the dogs have come a long way in the nail clipping department. I used to be a nervous wreck about it because there is a vein running down a dog's nails and if you clip the nail too short, you'll clip the vein thereby creating a bleeding frenzy. But I've gotten good. I'm faster, the dogs are more patient. The whole process is all kinds of better than it used to be. Brian doesn't even need to hold Annie anymore. She just stands there and is good.
I clipped Annie's nails. No incidences.
I began clipping Reggie's nails and the little guy squirms so much Brian had to sit down with him and hold him. I was almost done. Last paw. Three more nails to go. I make the snip and I know the second I do it that it was no good.
Reggie yelps and looks me square in the eye with a betrayed look. I will carry that look to the grave. The blood begins pouring out of his little dog-finger/toe. I panic and start yelling at Reggie to just "LAY DOWN." I yell at Brian to get some flour STAT! (Thanks to Nancy who has taught me that dog blood does not clot as quickly, or at least the blood coming out of claws, so throwing flour on it helps.) Brian hops up, gets a spoonful of flour. I elevate Reggie's paw. Brian spoons the flour on and we try to stem the flow of blood with paper towels. The flour is working. Then Brian asks, "Is Reggie dripping?" I look at his sweet little face and his mouth is just dripping. It didn't look like saliva. I think it was dog sweat. I yelled, "He doesn't feel good! He's going to pass out!" He clearly looked woozy. (Although it is possible that he was merely confused by my frenzy.) I began pounding on his chest, yelling, "Don't you die on me now!" (Okay that's a total lie. I thought it would be good for the story.) Brian, who maintained a cooler head throughout the ordeal, simply asked Reggie, "Do you wanna go out?" At which Reggie hopped up and ran out the door looking completely unscathed. But all night he licked that wounded toe, looking at me out of the corner of his eye with a hurt and puzzled look.
Later I cleaned the blood spots off the rug in the kitchen, trying to assuage my guilt, scrubbing and quoting Lady Macbeth. (I think you all know the line.)
Epilogue
But no one escaped the bloodbath. After clipping nails I laid my medical gear (cotton balls and q-tips) out on the kitchen rug to take a look at Annie's ear, which seemed to be bothering her. Cleaning her infected ear caused it to bleed. But she was very stoic. Next time, Brian shall do all the dirty work.
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