ACCOUNTANT BY DAY

Yesterday at work I found this dog in the trash. It was there when my coworker and I went back there to ditch our 3 tons of accumulated refuse and when I saw it I said, “Hi Doggy!” and it came to me and wagged its ugly little tail back and forth hopefully. It was small so I picked it up and conducted a cursory examination but found no collar or tags, only scabby flea bites and scruffy, filthy fur. I knew already that there was no way the employee accompanying me would permit an action such as leaving the dog there, so I carried it back to the store with me.

It had about four inches of thick matted fur all over her back and most of its body, and it was so lumpy that at first I wanted to compulsively diagnose the dog with Giant Tumor Syndrome but it turned out to be just hair. My employee gave it some turkey lunch meat when we got back to the store, and the little dog wolfed it down, thumping its stupid looking tail against the floor the whole time. We only had an hour or so until we closed the store, but this was just enough time for me to realize that I would be crucified by my employees if I took the dog to the pound.

When I took the dog to the PetSmart over on Antioch Road after work, a crowd of employees gathered to fuss and cluck over it, and to help me pick out basic dog supplies and give me advice on getting it fixed up. I’d refrained from identifying the animal by gender until that point, but a helpful employee examined it and announced brightly that “Nope, it’s a she. See her little VAGINA?” She said this loudly and I was a bit disturbed by it all.

Another employee, not V-Girl, walked through the store helping me select food and such, and informed me that there was no point looking for an owner, based on the condition of the dog, which was overall neglected. She also showed me some little purses that people buy to carry small dogs around in and after I established that it was for the dog itself and not for its accessories or something, my essential reaction was to demand, what the hell do dogs have legs for, anyway? I put it nicer than that but I felt quite strongly on the inside that this was something only crazy people would do.

By the end of my shopping trip at PetSmart I had been talked into at least looking at a pamphlet on health plans with the adjoining Banfield animal clinic and I dimly began to realize that I would probably end up keeping the animal because if I didn’t it would basically be incontrovertible proof that I’m an immoral hag who deserves death. It was starting to grow on me anyway.

It has a ton of nasty hair all over it in clumps and it needs vaccinations and a full body shave. What a gross animal. At least it is quiet.

By the way, dogs do apparently know that it’s not bacon.