I have been grooming dogs for 31 years now. I have often wondered just how many toenails I’ve clipped (not counting my own, of course), how many anal glands I’ve squeezed, how many Poodle feet I have shaved… The list goes on and on.
Although there are times when I just can’t, I usually take walk-ins for nail cutting. Last Wednesday was a particularly busy day, and I was letting the answering machine pick up quite a few calls as I tried to stay on schedule with all of the appointments.
At one point, the phone rang, and I let it go to the machine. The person hung up. A split second later, it rang again, and I still didn’t answer.
“Twas a Saturday with a full moon expected that evening. Need I say more? Every kennel had an occupant: an incessant, howling, banging resident. Both human and canine customers, wrapped in some mystic force’s embrace, felt compelled to issue impossible or ludicrous requests and behave as if all common sense was lost. It was only 10 a.m., but I had already come to the conclusion that it was going to be a margarita night once I survived this test of moral and mannerly fortitude.