A Visit to the Pet Store
by acdscout

If you’re not in the US, you may not be aware that nowadays, the big pet stores let you bring your dog in with you if it’s on a leash. It’s a nice idea, and most dogs I ever see at these stores are quiet, well–behaved and self–contained. The major exception being my dog Scout.

I’m sure you’ve heard of the proverbial bull in a china shop. Well, just think of Scout as the bull and the local pet store as the china shop.

Normally, that is, not in a pet store, Scout is very well–behaved and very obedient. I’m generally quite pleased with how she acts. Until we go to the pet store.

Where we shop, they have little rodents and birds and reptiles behind glass. Once in the front door, Scout, who knows how to heel very nicely, yanks me over to see the birds. Little parakeets and other domesticated type birds flit here and there in a setting of artificial tree limbs and plastic toys, and Scout joins in their chirping with anxious whines, while she jumps at the glass.

A nice quiet dog with its owner passes us. The owner eyes me disdainfully; the dog looks at Scout as though wondering if she’s a mental case. I drag Scout away.

Just around the corner are the chinchillas. They’re largish, rather sweet–looking dark gray rodents. Scout scrambles wildly toward their in–store habitat, and they scurry just as wildly into their plastic purple hut. I can imagine how they feel, all exposed behind that clear sheet of glass, with this slavering dog zooming up whining and hopping around right on their doorstep. A couple of dogless people pass by smirking and giggling at her antics. I drag Scout away.

I make for a temporary haven – the treat row, and she gets nicely involved in smelling the rawhide chews, pig ears and Great–Dane–sized bones that lie just a dog’s nose away on a lower shelf.

We wander down this row and that, and she settles down a bit. Looking at products and prices and what not, I forget what row we’re on, when suddenly we’re at the very back of the store. Oh no, I forgot about doggie day care!

Here, in the last row, behind large glass panels, eight or ten dogs of varying sizes and breeds are gathered for their daily play session. Going past them with Scout is a harrowing experience.

She starts to pull madly on the leash. Her toenails scrape ineffectively on the linoleum and her legs spin like a cartoon dog’s as she strains until her collar pulls out at the back a good foot. Whining becomes screaming. (Yes, screaming. This dog puts out a high–pitched wail that would do a horror movie proud.)

At this point, the doggie day–care canines start up a grand barking session. A picturesque scene of playful dogs turns into deafening chaos. A few of the more assertive hurl themselves at the plate glass barrier in a frenzy.

The day–care attendant glares at me, and I drag as if my life depended on it. Scout strains and struggles toward her new–found buddies with those nails a–scratchin’ and legs a–whirlin’.

The odd thing is, if I tell her to sit at these times, she does. Immediately. Her rear end sits nicely. The front end leans out like a hood ornament towards whatever she wants to get at. Unfortunately, the whining or screaming continues, independent of posture.

I finally get her away and start towards the exit. On the way out, we have to scramble at the rodents again, and I hear a voice nearby. "Oh, mama, get me one of those." No, Scout is not a talking dog, another customer is being humorous. I give a dutiful smile through closed lips and haul my animal away and out, thoroughly exhausted. Me, not Scout.

You may ask, why do I take her? I don’t know anymore. I used to have the idea that if I took her pretty often, she’d get over it. No such luck. But then, I’ve only been trying for 7 years. Maybe she really does just want a chinchilla. Think I should get her one?