Now that puppy is a thousand and can no longer take walks or play ball, her toenails have grown into talons.
They no longer get “filed” down naturally on the ground since we can no longer take walks through the neighborhood on the sidewalks or run like a lightning bolt to catch tennis balls mid-air. Really both of these things just stopped in the last year and a half – sometimes she looks so bored now….
These “talons” of hers were like an inch long – and crazy. I took her down the street to the vet to get them cut and they only cut one before they must have hurt her and she said – “Stop manhandling me you fools, don’t you know I have bad legs”?!!!
So the other day we went to the groomer, we’ve had the same one since I got her, they love her and know to be tender with her legs while doing anything with the puppy.
It’s a bit of a drive to the groomer – so we had to take a ride. The ride requires a drive down a busy five lane road. Something you become acutely aware of when you have wobbles the dog standing up in the back seat looking out the window.
We make it there fine, get her nails snipped (ok, they missed one talon – but we can live with it for now) and load her back up into the car. I’m driving down the left lane, near the turn lane when I have to stop suddenly – something you do not want to do with a wobbly puppy in the back.
As anticipated, she fell down, BUT not a normal fall to a sitting position on the seat. No, she ended up back on the floor, feet in the air behind the driver’s seat. Crap. I look back, see her head on the hump in the middle. Crap.
Now what? We are on a super busy street and I am not in the right lane where I could turn off quickly and stop, I’m in the left lane in the middle of the road. I put my right hand back and start to pet her chin. Crap.
I get into the turn lane, surely I can make a break across the road into a business and stop there? Um, no, no I can’t. Traffic just keeps coming, nonstop, for what seems like an eternity. She’s extremely unhappy on her back in the foot cubby behind my seat– I pet her, pet her, pet her. Crap.
Traffic won’t stop, she is struggling. What am I going to do? Honestly – this is crazy. I can’t get out of the car – I’m smack in the middle of the busy road. There will be no opening of car doors, or standing in the street trying to maneuver her.
So, I put on the hazards, throw the car in park, take off my seat belt and I am not joking, crawl over the console into the back seat. All the while I’m thinking – someone is going to rear end us. This is not good. Crap.
Now I’m on the seat in the back, my feet are under me on the seat. How am I going to get leverage to pull her up and where am I going to put her, I’m in the way? We are going to get rear ended. Crap.
I reach down, slide her up the back of the driver’s seat, and flip her into my lap – she is not a small dog, this is not elegant, legs and toenails are everywhere – even if they were just trimmed. Puppy is not happy. I am not happy. We are going to get rear ended. Crap.
I put her in the other seat next to me, crawl back over the console, quickly clip on the seatbelt and start to judge how we are going to get back into the flow of traffic from a dead standstill. So far we have not been rear ended.
Did I mention Crap? Yes? Well, when I get back up front I smell something not so sweet. Apparently this entire struggle also scared the shit out her – literally (and unfortunately). It has to be cleaned up or she will be stepping/sitting in it soon. So now, I can’t find a bag, napkin, dried snotty Kleenex, anything paper – no? Great, so I scoop the poop up in my hand – ah, lovely…
Now I have one hand full of warm poop, the other one on the wheel and I still have to get back into the fast flow of traffic. I am loving this day – as is she, I am sure.
Eventually we make it back into the flow, I click off the hazards (yes, with the knuckle of THAT hand) and we are finally on our way home. We did not get rear ended – I have no idea how, but she is fine, the car is fine, my hand and the seat have been thoroughly scrubbed and her single talon on her right foot, which is still an inch long – is also fine… it’s the middle nail, do you think it’s a sign?
Picture tenderly taken, I couldn’t get a great shot of its full length – the manhandling and “are you a fool”, still apply when dealing with touchy limbs.