Today I trimmed the dog’s nails. The dog is 90 pounds, and he does not like having his nails cut. With frequent breaks for treats and chase-the-ball (not to be confused with fetch – the rules of chase-the-ball specify that the person throw or kick the ball for the dog to chase. When the dog has chased it, he looks up from where the ball has come to rest in order to let the person know that it is time to come over and throw or kick the ball again), I tried to win the dog over to the idea that nail-trimming is not fatal. Though he liked the treats and the games, he remains unconvinced.
You would think that 90 pounds of dog would somehow wear down his own nails during the normal course of his digging, romping and walks. Walking on pavement does something for the back paws, but because of the way most dogs pick up their feet, the front, left unchecked, would grow to resemble those of your weirder old-time Asian emperor.
I have thought of buying a metric ton of emery boards and hiding a dog treat underneath them.
There we were in the back yard, me shuffling around on my knees trying to grab a paw in one hand while I scratched an ear with another. It’s a beautiful sunny day and being able to be in the backyard with the dog is wonderful. I found myself singing along to our little project. Blondie’s Greatest Hits. Specifically, “Someday/I’m gonna’ clip nails/I’m gonna’ clip them/I’m gonna clip ‘em, clip ‘em, clip ‘em, clip ‘em…”
Yeah. I’m really very glad that I work most weekends. This means my day-off activities tend to fall on a Monday, when the neighbors are at their jobs and won’t bust a gut laughing at me.
Of course, Blondie only led to worser things:
Don’t sleep in the subway, Darling,
Don’t something-or-other else…
Which makes me recall that the 70’s were distinguished by a kind of crime-wave in New York. I have been known to sleep on the subway, on occasion. I even know people with the uncanny ability to wake up just as the train pulls into their stop, sort of like waking up the instant before your alarm clock goes off in the morning.
Eventually, I got the last nail by straddling the dog and picking up his paw the way you pick up a horse’s hoof. He’s got to go to the vet tomorrow for a limp, so I really wanted to clip as many as I could with him lying down.
So, to recap my day –
Dog nails: trimmed.
Neighbors: (ones that are home) now secure in the knowledge that I have a vast array of disco tunes in my repertoire.
Dog treats: entirely depleted.