The end of our walk starts with my daily encouragement to hurry Gigi home by telling her she’s going to get second breakfast.
This doesn’t really help at all (she still stops and sticks her face in every damn thing), nor does it discourage her from barking at the passing cars or bike riders on our street (stressful), but I pretend it will almost every single day.
When we get inside I don’t break my promise. She’s unleashed, she runs to her water bowl, and I spoon out the second breakfast. I suspect she knows she’s the luckiest dog.
But it’s after that, when I sit down and wait for her to finish, and I grab her brush and her lavendar wipes and her ear wipes and her plaque tooth wipes and she settles on my lap. It’s the way she sits up like a ferret as I take each paw and get in the crevices to remove green foxtails (clumps of grass seeds) or sticky pollen or burgrass and her face tips back as she stares ahead in a trance.
It’s the way she noses at the brush, ready to have me smooth out any tangles or matts created from her harness.
It’s the way she kinda has a love/hate relationship with the tooth wipes? It’s all love when I get into the gums for some reason.
And the way her leg starts moving when I do the ear wipes? Addictive.
I remember taking a training class for Lizzy, the dog I had before Gigi, where the trainer recommended massaging your dog’s ears and paws. Not only does it help them get comfortable with handling for vet visits and grooming, but it also feels especially good to them once they trust you enough to allow it. The sweetness of that melted me.
What a special little life, having unwavering rituals of food and cuddles and walks and food again and being overwhelmingly pampered by the person you love most.
(Daily Writing 018)
Thoughts?