A visit to the spa
Not too many weeks ago, Jamie was the winner of a gift certificate to a local dog grooming salon.
Last Thursday, he got around to cashing in on his prize.
“Not that there’s any room for improvement here,” he said. “But I guess it couldn’t hurt.”
“Actually big man, your claws are about as long as 16-penny nails and they could use a good trimming,” I said. “And maybe the folks there can help you lose a few pounds of fur.”
“A few pounds?” Jamie said. “Hmmm, I’ve been wanting a nice new pillow.”
Jamie’s female sidekick Gertie (the Perma-pup) was also in on the trip, and my wife Wendy brought them to their destination, Diane’s Pet Styles in Houston. I met them there and when everyone was present, owner Dianna Bennett quickly made friends with the stub-wagging 35-pounder at the end of the leash I was holding.
Then it was pampering time for the Big Lug.
After hearing me mention that Jamie doesn’t much care for having his toenails cut, Ms. Bennett decided to try tackling that portion of the program first and hoisted her bulky assignment onto a grooming table. Not unexpectedly, her guest whimpered and whined and put up a struggle.
“Goodness Jamie, she’s not going to cut off your feet,” I said. “All the antics really aren’t necessary.”
“Oh, that?” Jamie said. “I was just practicing for my next role with the drama troop in Willow Springs. They want me to play – um – a Pembroke Welsh Corgi who’s afraid of having his claws trimmed.”
“Wow, nice work big guy,” I said. “For a moment there, you really had me believing you were a scared Corgi.”
At that point, Jamie went “Master Thespian” on me (the character Jon Lovitz played in numerous Saturday Night Live sketches during the late 1980s).
“Acting!” he yelled.
I played along.
“Genius!” I said.
After the difficulty with the nail clippers, Jamie’s spa host switched gears and bathed his long and low body. She then towel-dried him and placed him in a metallic, dual compartment dog-drying contraption with see-through glass doors that sort of resembled a wine cooler or some sort of meat smoker.
“I’m already aged perfectly and I’m an excellent choice with any entree,” Jamie said. “But make sure you have the timer set right on this thing and I don’t end up overdone. I still want a little pink in my middle when I get out of here.”
“Ha, ha,” I said. “Wine and steak humor.”
While Jamie was in the drying room, Gertie got her bath and then entered the doggie wind tunnel. When the Big Lug exited, Ms. Bennett put him on another table and used an electric blow dryer to finish him off.
“You know, the first electric hair dryers appeared in France in the late 1800s,” Jamie said. “The first hand-held unit – like the one being used on me now – appeared in 1920.”
“Wow, Jamie,” I said. “I’m once again impressed by your knowledge of history.”
“Benjamin Franklin once said, ‘an investment in knowledge pays the best interest,’” Jamie said. “I’m after a high interest rate.”
“Nice investment, Big Man,” I said. “I’m sure Ben would be proud.”
At Jamie’s next stop on his spa tour, he received a full-on brushing. But in order to assure his security while she worked him over on the grooming table, Ms. Bennett first hooked him up to a set of straps hanging from an overhead apparatus – one around his ample rear end and another around his neck.
“A noose!” Jamie exclaimed. “Somehow I knew all this was too good to be true!”
“It’s just there to keep you from falling,” Dianna said.
“I better not fall,” Jamie said. “If I do, I’ll be the first Corgi ever to be hanged in Missouri! And I’m innocent, I tell you!”
“Settle down,” I said. “You’re not in danger of any capital punishment.”
“You can’t be too careful when it comes to the wrath of the hangman,” Jamie said.
“You’re not on death row,” I said. “You’re at a spa.”
“I want to talk to my lawyer,” Jamie said.
“Dianna, never mind that nonsense,” I said.
After Ms. Bennett somehow survived the fur storm that blew through the room over the next several minutes, she proceeded to trim the heavy coat that still remained on Jamie’s frame. Combining the use of scissors and an electric trimmer, she carefully contoured his coiffure from front to rear.
When she worked on the USS Jamie’s stern, she even lifted his “lid” (a.k.a. tail, or stub) and shaped the poofy growth on his caboose. She also eliminated some of the excess down under.
“Hey, watch where you put that thing,” Jamie said. “There’s some important real estate in that neighborhood.”
“I think she’s got you covered, Big Man,” I said. “I’m pretty sure you’ll still be a baritone when you leave.”
Next it was time to go back to the claws. To give Jamie less to focus on, I stepped out of sight, and while Dianna’s assistant held him tight and told him how nice he was, Dianna successfully snipped away.
“I have to admit,” Jamie said, “those things you said about me are all true.”
Miss Gertie got the same overall treatment, and took several opportunities to display the growling, gurgling and half-crazed sound effects that lead me to often say she’s part Corgi and part Gremlin (although my wife is probably right that she’s just the world’s most ticklish dog and can’t stand it when someone’s toweling her off or something like that).
Before Jamie said his goodbyes, he was thoroughly spritzed with some Corgi Klein cologne. He left feeling completely refreshed and was soft and smooth to the touch.
“I look good,” he said. “But then, why should today be any different?”
“That’s a bit on the conceited side, don’t you think?” I said.
“It is what it is,” Jamie said.
“Maybe,” I said.
“When something’s good, it’s good,” Jamie said.
“Suddenly you’re a cliché machine,” I said.
“I’m just sayin’,” Jamie said.
Doug Davison is a writer, photographer and newsroom assistant for the Houston Herald. Jamie is a big ol’ Pembroke Welsh Corgi. Email: firstname.lastname@example.org.