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I had a new client today with 3 large dogs, chow & "Nigerian Razorback" (HAHAHAHAHA, snicker, giggle....sometimes, ya gotta just go with it, y'know?) crosses. I was told by the client beforehand that they were really shy with strangers and standoffish. So, naturally I wasn't expecting much in the way of good behavior on their part. Which is okay, cuz being mobile Im used to it (I get a lot of naughty guys that shops have had the good sense to send on their way).
I knocked on the door and bedlam ensued. I could hear enormous dogs barking and howling inside, and over the din an [B]incredibly [/B]loud voice of a man telling them to SHUT IT, DAMMIT! JUST SHUT IT!. The door opens and Im greeted by a tiny gnome of a guy, 5-foot nothing, bout 80 years old, toting an O2 tank, one of those canes with the four little feet on it, and smoking a cigarette. He couldnt have weighed more than 90 lbs soaking wet. The dogs are continuing the alarm, barking and cowering. Not one of them was under 70 lbs.
"Micky! Micky, c'mere! C'MERE! G*DAMMIT, GETYERASSOVERHEREYOUSUMBITCH!". Micky, displaying no small amount of good sense, wants no part of this at all. "Let's see if we can get t'othern. PENNY! PENNY, DAMMIT! CMERE!". And so on. He repeated the routine with all three, shouting at the top of his lungs and brandishing the cane, shaking it in the general direction of the now-totally-out-of-control dogs. And all 3 dogs continued to bark, cringe, and generally carry on, paying absolutely no attention to his increasingly louder demands. Finally, he turns to me and says, "They're a little shy with strangers". Im thinking to myself, Shy with strangers? Are you completely mental, little man? I wouldn't come to you if you shouted at me like that, either!
Finally, apparently fed up, he grabbed the kennel lead from my hands, lassoed the nearest dog (who happened to be Micky, poor old guy just wasn't as fast as the other two...), and drug him out the front door, cussing mightily as Micky put on the brakes and did his best to hinder the operation. Seemingly unmindful of the choking, struggling, dead weight behind him, he puffed and sweated his way across the driveway. I admit, I would have doubted he could make his way to the mailbox, judging from his appearance. I certainly never expected him to be so strong! Or LOUD!
I followed, a bit bemused, as he hauled him to the van, reached down, and picked up the trembling 90 lb behemoth. He half-flung, half-shoved the dog inside, where poor Mick promptly became a pancake on my floor. With a glare and a pointed finger, he sternly informed Micky to "f*cking behave" himself. Panting, he turned around, grinned at me and said, "So, what? Bout 45 minutes? Let me know if he gives you any trouble!". With a parting glare at the dog, he went back inside.
Micky turned out to be the perfect gentleman the moment the van door closed. Although he refused to stand (and at 13 years old, he wants to lay down, he can lay down), he was very obliging about letting me do whatever I wanted to him, including his nails. And no - he wasn't shy at all, in fact I got kisses! Riiiight up until we got to the door, where he again turned into a trembling, running, barking furball albeit a much cleaner one! "Well, look at you! What a good lookin dog! Cmere so I can see ya! Micky! Cmere! CMERE, DAMMIT!...."
The process was repeated with Penny and then Sage, both of whom displayed the exact behavior as Micky, both in and out of the van. And again when I brought them back inside, where they promptly ran away with their dad in hot pursuit, yelling at the top of his lungs to CMERE, DAMMIT!
He re-booked and tipped me, again apologizing for his dogs behavior. Sighing, he lamented, "If only they weren't so shy with strangers!" Yeah. If only, huh...
I knocked on the door and bedlam ensued. I could hear enormous dogs barking and howling inside, and over the din an [B]incredibly [/B]loud voice of a man telling them to SHUT IT, DAMMIT! JUST SHUT IT!. The door opens and Im greeted by a tiny gnome of a guy, 5-foot nothing, bout 80 years old, toting an O2 tank, one of those canes with the four little feet on it, and smoking a cigarette. He couldnt have weighed more than 90 lbs soaking wet. The dogs are continuing the alarm, barking and cowering. Not one of them was under 70 lbs.
"Micky! Micky, c'mere! C'MERE! G*DAMMIT, GETYERASSOVERHEREYOUSUMBITCH!". Micky, displaying no small amount of good sense, wants no part of this at all. "Let's see if we can get t'othern. PENNY! PENNY, DAMMIT! CMERE!". And so on. He repeated the routine with all three, shouting at the top of his lungs and brandishing the cane, shaking it in the general direction of the now-totally-out-of-control dogs. And all 3 dogs continued to bark, cringe, and generally carry on, paying absolutely no attention to his increasingly louder demands. Finally, he turns to me and says, "They're a little shy with strangers". Im thinking to myself, Shy with strangers? Are you completely mental, little man? I wouldn't come to you if you shouted at me like that, either!
Finally, apparently fed up, he grabbed the kennel lead from my hands, lassoed the nearest dog (who happened to be Micky, poor old guy just wasn't as fast as the other two...), and drug him out the front door, cussing mightily as Micky put on the brakes and did his best to hinder the operation. Seemingly unmindful of the choking, struggling, dead weight behind him, he puffed and sweated his way across the driveway. I admit, I would have doubted he could make his way to the mailbox, judging from his appearance. I certainly never expected him to be so strong! Or LOUD!
I followed, a bit bemused, as he hauled him to the van, reached down, and picked up the trembling 90 lb behemoth. He half-flung, half-shoved the dog inside, where poor Mick promptly became a pancake on my floor. With a glare and a pointed finger, he sternly informed Micky to "f*cking behave" himself. Panting, he turned around, grinned at me and said, "So, what? Bout 45 minutes? Let me know if he gives you any trouble!". With a parting glare at the dog, he went back inside.
Micky turned out to be the perfect gentleman the moment the van door closed. Although he refused to stand (and at 13 years old, he wants to lay down, he can lay down), he was very obliging about letting me do whatever I wanted to him, including his nails. And no - he wasn't shy at all, in fact I got kisses! Riiiight up until we got to the door, where he again turned into a trembling, running, barking furball albeit a much cleaner one! "Well, look at you! What a good lookin dog! Cmere so I can see ya! Micky! Cmere! CMERE, DAMMIT!...."
The process was repeated with Penny and then Sage, both of whom displayed the exact behavior as Micky, both in and out of the van. And again when I brought them back inside, where they promptly ran away with their dad in hot pursuit, yelling at the top of his lungs to CMERE, DAMMIT!
He re-booked and tipped me, again apologizing for his dogs behavior. Sighing, he lamented, "If only they weren't so shy with strangers!" Yeah. If only, huh...
To have to live in fear of that old fart!! Sounds like they're good kids that need a new owner!
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