Since leaving my job I haven’t been walking as much. Walking in a nice safe office complex is a lot different from walking down the wilderness path that passes for a road around here. But since walking is my favorite form of exercise, I’m determined to do it anyway.
That means I need a buddy. I need Scooter! Walking six cats would probably make me look crazy. That doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it! I just think all the fighting and scratching would give me flashbacks from work and I don’t need that. Ha!
The problem with walking Scooter is that as soon as you put him on a leash he becomes a big drama king and starts choking and gagging like you are trying to hook him to a wagon to carry around your beer instead of just taking a leisurely stroll down the street. Not that I’ve thought of that! Of course not. Six cats hooked to a wagon on the other hand…
The solution to Scooter’s dramatics is a harness. Then he can’t pretend like he’s being hooked to a wagon to pull a cat around the yard for a possibly funny viral YouTube video. Not that I’ve thought of that either. Not at all! Plus, with a harness, he’ll have a handy carrying handle. Win/win! I’ve always wanted to carry my dog around like a purse!
I decide to take Scooter to Petco. Could I possibly get a cheaper harness at Walmart or something? Heck yeah! But it will be more interesting to take Scooter into the store and see what happens. I’m unemployed. I take entertainment where I get it! If I don’t watch out I might think of hooking up a dog and cat sled team. Nobody wants that!
My son JJ is totally against the whole idea. Even though he’s gotten better since turning 18, the residual parent embarrassment still remains. Do we ever get rid of that? I don’t think so. Anyway, I tell him he can stay in the car if he wants. I don’t care. He tells me he’ll go, but I have to hold Choky McGee’s leash.
Whatever. Unemployed. Bored. I’m way past being embarrassed by anything. I lead him into the store and the first thing that freaks Scooter out is the door. He comes to a complete stop, scared of the crazy future door that opens on its own. I have to pull him a little to get him to move forward. JJ is about a mile ahead of us, pretending like he’s with some other people. More attractive people with a normal dog.
Then Scooter has to get used to the floors. Specifically linoleum floors. He starts sliding like he’s on ice. Now people are looking at us like we’re rednecks who only let their dogs walk on dirt floors. I think about sliding too so people think it’s the floor that is the issue not and my poor dog who is giving me the saddest look like, “What kind of fresh hell have you brought me into?”
One of the Petco employees, this lady, squats down in front of Scooter. I get worried because Scooter doesn’t see many strangers. (Which is why his rabies papers are in my wallet). Even though his face says, “Bitch, back up off me,” he lets her pet him and talk to him. I give a sigh of relief. Now I only have to worry about my son. I don’t have his rabies papers.
I also fear Scooter will cock a leg and pee on a shelf or on a ferret, but he’s a good dog and doesn’t make Petco his own. Not on this trip anyway. Maybe next time. Once he figures out the walking thing.
I try to show Scooter different toys, but he doesn’t care about that. I try squeaking various things, including a few hamsters but he’s still freaking out a little. He’s actually lucky he didn’t end up with this gummy bear looking toy. But since I wasn’t there to buy something for me and I already have enough toys (some with batteries), I didn’t pick it up.
We search for a harness, but as predicted they are way too expensive and don’t even offer hooks for a wagon. I finally dig up a Petco brand harness, which isn’t as expensive so we take that. JJ finally relents to take Scooter’s leash. I think Scooter is too traumatized to even be dramatic. JJ, on the other hand, is not.
I take Scooter to the pet treat bar and fill up a bag because I figure later on I’m going to owe him a big apology.
That’s our exciting trip to Petco. Just a small part of my day. I haven’t even told you about when my husband sent me out to buy him concrete nails and an old man was like, “How can I help you, young lady?”
I also heard from a recruiter of a company who wants me to send her some information about myself. And it’s legitimate! Not like the one who told me they’d make me a big star if I agreed to meet them at an empty storage area. Again, another story…
I just need to figure out what to do with these tassels…