Frenchie’s Best Friend
-Follow the Blog
by
Mary L. Laudien
Published by
Mary L. Laudien on Smashwords
Copyright@2011 by Mary L. Laudien
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This book is available in print at most online retailers.
Chapter 1: Welcome to Ethan’s World
Chapter 6: What’s the Big Deal?
Chapter 8: Here Come the Customers—Ready or Not
Chapter 9: My First Appointment
Chapter 10: Business Flourishes
Chapter 11: Tuesday’s Appointment
Chapter 12: Wednesday’s Appointment
Chapter 13: Thursday’s Appointment
Chapter 14: Friday’s Appointment
Chapter 15: The Appointment from Hell
Chapter 16: Frenchie Lovers Unite Through Social Networking
Chapter 18: The Plan Comes Full Circle—Or Almost
Free Sample Chapters of Frenchie X 2- Follow the Blog
Chapter 1: Welcome to Ethan’s World
I’m what you might call “dog crazy.” I daydream about French Bulldogs, I read about them, I seek them out on the sea wall, I cruise the Internet advertising homes for them, I even dream about them at night. Maybe I could be called obsessed—I know that’s what my mom believes! So why, you ask, do I not have a Frenchie of my own? The answer, my friends, is pure and simple—I’m not allowed. That’s right. I’m in eighth grade and my mother still will not let me have a dog. She comes up with every excuse imaginable.
It is really all about her these days. She calls herself a “single mom” now that my dad has moved on (meaning he decided to “take a break” from the routine of family life after about twenty years and moved away to Vancouver Island to find himself). Apparently he’s still looking because he didn’t come back (to our family, that is), but he has started a new career and lives permanently over there. That’s okay, because, as a child of divorced parents, I get to visit him in Victoria and spend time with his dogs. He and “his new partner in life” have a couple of Westies.
Anyways, like I was saying, now that my mom is a “single parent,” she believes she has to have strict control over everything that involves me. Her strongest argument is that she works long hours at school and it would be unkind to leave a dog home alone for an endless day. What she doesn’t get is that Grandpa Bob, who lives on the next block would gladly squeeze a pee break in for his “grand dog” between his golf games and bridge. I know he would. And on the odd day that he couldn’t, I would jog home for lunch and let him out. I could easily make it in the forty-five minutes we have for lunch break.
Mom always says that if I love dogs so much, then I should just spend more time caring for Grandma Sis’ and Grandpa Bob’s puppy, Cher. She’s a Bichon Frisé, and Grandma Sis believes she’s a glamorous dog because of her fluffy puffy coat. Grandma chose the name Cher as she (not so secretly) believes that she, herself, resembles the old movie star and singer, Cher. I’ve looked really closely at pictures of Cher and I have to be honest, if there is a similarity, it has to be that they are both really tall…. Anyways, it’s not that I don’t like their dog Cher, I do, but she isn’t exactly a guy’s kind of dog; I mean really, what guy is going to want to be seen with a fussy little white “foo foo” dog?! When I think of a French Bulldog, I picture a heavyset, sturdy “little man” with whom to wrestle and walk around town, not some little “fluff ball!” A Frenchie is an affectionate breed, and they’re hilarious because of being so front heavy and lacking balance. Never throw a Frenchie off a boat into the ocean—for sure he would sink! Their personalities are adorable, they’re such a comical breed. Nothing is funnier than to watch them lay down with their back legs stretched out behind them—they look so incredibly cute!
Mom always says I have enough responsibility around home with keeping my room tidy, unloading the dishwasher, mowing the lawn, and keeping up with my homework; without adding a dog into the mix. She can’t understand how I have time after school (before she gets home) to get all my homework done. Little does she realize (until she gets my report card) that in actuality, I’m not really doing much homework. The TV and computer seem to be a deterrent to my intellectual development. She doesn’t know this, as she is so immersed in school, she just thinks everyone else “lives and breathes” education. It’s going to be a rude awakening when first term reports come out! I think it’s safe to say that I’m somewhat of a disappointment to my mom in this matter already. She just can’t accept the fact that her Grade Eight son is just not that academically inclined. She believes everyone has “smarts,” but I think she’s still trying to pinpoint what exactly mine are! Getting good marks at school are really not a big motivator for me. I seem to get by through making conscious choices. That’s right, I’m good at reading people and making sure I’m in the right classes where the teachers are more open-minded about their practices. This means they prefer to teach kids through inquiry and let us research during class with laptops, as well as work in collaboration with a team. I know how to pick my friends for these opportunities. I always finesse it so that I’m with one or two of those kids who have the language “smarts.” That means they’re great writers and communicators. It seems to be helping me glide through without any major stress. Maybe I’m not the next Einstein, but I’m doing okay. So, Mom’s argument about me not having time for any more responsibility, like taking care of a dog, really doesn’t cut it. Now I just have to convince her!
My dad always sticks up for me when it comes to having my own pet. He reminds my mom about how I must feel coming home to an empty house every day (just a little guilt trip to make her feel bad for being such a workaholic) and how a dog would be a comfort to me. As far as being an advocate, Dad is pretty persuasive (he should be—that’s his business to promote stocks that no one really wants to buy), but unfortunately where my dad is concerned, my mom can become obstinate. She would never want anyone to think that she agreed with anything he suggested. Now, if he had played it the other way and refused to even discuss the idea of a pet for me—I might have had a fighting chance.
Another big obstacle in my mother’s mind is the cost of buying a purebred dog and its vet bills. She says it’s fine for my dad to have a zoo at his house (three cats and two dogs), but on a teacher’s salary, there’s no way we could swing the financial burden of the upkeep for a dog. She always comes back to the horror stories she hears from her colleagues and families about how they are spending more on their dog’s vet bills than on their mortgage payments some months. She believes, in her conservative way, that one does not burden one’s family financially for any reason—and especially for a dog that we don’t have time to look after, anyways. It’s really hard to dissuade her when she’s off on this kind of a tangent. She always seems to win that argument. What do people always say—it always comes down to MONEY! Well, I’m going to figure out how to get enough of it, so she isn’t going to be able to use that argument against me any longer.
And that’s where Grandma Sis comes in. She’s probably the most interesting grandma that any kid could have. First of all, as Mom puts it, she “marches to her own drum.” That’s an old fashioned way to say she is true to herself. Like I said before, she believes she looks like that old star Cher, and so, to add to her appearance, Grandma Sis wears shorts over her pantyhose every day of the year with high heels. She says it shows off her long legs. I personally have trouble explaining to my friends why she’s wearing shorts in the middle of winter, to say nothing about the pantyhose with which she is trying to disguise her varicose veins. It kind of “creeps us guys out” to see an old lady dressed like that. My mom says to just get over it; that’s part of what makes her unique. Whatever!
Now you have to know my grandma and grandpa are in their mid seventies, and neither one has a gray hair on their heads. Grandma was a hair stylist, and she believes it is sinful to have gray hair. Every Sunday afternoon, she and Grandpa give each other a dye job. It’s hilarious to see the reddish brown dye sitting on Grandpa’s thinning scalp, but they think they look great for their age, and Mom says that’s all that matters.
Grandma is not your typical “let me make you cookies” kind of grandma. (Are you getting the picture?) In my younger years, when my babysitter had to have an emergency operation, Grandma was enlisted to let me spend my after-school hours with her, until my mom could make it home from work. Let me tell you, it was always an adventure! Either I would walk in on a coffee party with “her ladies” (whose hair she still styles the same way, frozen in time, in her basement mini-salon) and they would be gossiping about the latest issues on Oprah, sex scandals of the stars on Entertainment Tonight and all those other forbidden shows.... Or she would have her favorite soap story going and invite me to watch it with her. The Young and the Restless is one she never misses. There’s a TV in every room in her house—I kid you not! When I came home and told my mom that Victor got another woman pregnant, my mom didn’t think this was exactly the most appropriate environment for a six year old. Grandma was never asked to babysit me again!
What I like about Grandma Sis is that she’s kind of devious in a cool sort of way. She always thinks that everyone believes everything she says, but when you know her like we do, you realize she tells a lot of little white lies. Mom says it’s probably because she grew up in such a big family, and when you have so many other siblings to compete with, you might sometimes do some dishonest things to set yourself apart and get what you want and need. It’s not like she is a bad person, but she will lie if she thinks she can provoke you (meaning, “get you going”) or she thinks it will have the effect of making you feel better and not hurt your feelings. She doesn’t exactly tell you the straight goods on most things, if you know what I mean. It’s just kind of a habitual personality flaw that she has. Mom gets super annoyed when she pulls this on her, because she sees it as manipulation. She knows that whatever we tell Grandma Sis about personal things, she will pass directly onto her son (my dad) and that just makes it hard for Mom to trust her. Mom doesn’t really want Dad involved in our day-to-day decisions, as she feels he lost that privilege when he “moved on.” I get that and try not to upset her, but the dog may have to be an exception, as I think I’ll need Grandma’s “gifts” to help me get my dog.
All I can say is that one has to admire Grandma Sis’ spirit, her sense of fun, and her ability to make money. She has a business head, and I would like to think that maybe just a little of that has rubbed off on me. She loves to make some fast cash and is always scheming about ways to augment her old-age pension (that’s how she puts it). For example, one summer, she made Grandpa Bob so upset because she bought up all of these used fridges and stored them in his garage. He couldn’t get his car or his lawn mower in or out of it; it was so jammed. Then she put an ad in the paper to sell them to people for their cottages at the lake. He wasn’t quite so upset when she booked their trip to Maui with the profits from her quick-cash scheme. This is just one of many of her successful moneymaking plans. In fact, Grandpa Bob never knows who is going to be sitting at the breakfast table. She gets wind of special events happening in town, and the next thing he knows, she has a house full of paying guests rotating through their extra bedrooms. She loves the company (although she isn’t a registered “bed and breakfast”), and she has all that extra, non-taxable cash coming in. I like her entrepreneurial spirit and I hope to emulate her skills one day.
So, what you know about me thus far is that I’m totally “gaga” over French Bulldogs and I like to think I have a little business sense (from Grandma Sis). Although I may not be the successful academic student my mom would prefer I was, I think I have other “smarts,” which you will eventually pick up on as I uncover the rest of my story. Now, you may be wondering, where is this leading? Well, hold on, dear readers, because I have quite a tale for you that may just inspire you to follow your very own passion, as well (or not)!
Dad was in town on business that week and we hooked up at Grandma Sis’ to have dinner together. I always feel a little weird about telling my mom that we’re having dinner together—it’s like she’s being left out or something. I guess it will always be this way, even though she says she isn’t mad at Dad, it’s clear that she is hurt by his actions (in her words). I think that when he got remarried, that really “shut the door for her.” She pretty much wanted to describe Dad’s “moving on” up to that point as just an immature phase he was going through, but I think Grandma Sis and Grandpa Bob knew it was the real thing, and he wasn’t ever going to come back to live with us. So life moved ahead and my mom became more buried than ever in her work as an educator, and I have these occasional “somewhat-guilty visits” with my dad. My mom doesn’t try to make me feel like I’m disappointing her by being with my dad; in fact, she always justifies it with, “Oh great, Ethan, that means I can stay later at school and catch up on some of my work.” I just wish she would take the opportunity to go out and do something fun with her girlfriends, instead. Dad says it’s just a transition and she’s still getting used to being single again, and it could take awhile before she “gets her wings.” Grandma Sis thinks she is way too serious and needs to get on with dating. “The world is her oyster and there are lots of pots out there that are looking for lids.” Really, really corny stuff like that, but as Mom says, Grandma Sis is a flirt, and she doesn’t realize that there are piles of toads out there before you can meet a prince. Honestly, I’m just as glad that my mom isn’t particularly looking at the opposite sex—I think it would gross me out somehow to think my mom was seeking a boyfriend. I mean, can you imagine if your mother was setting up dates on one of those Internet sites? No, I’ll just stay content with the status quo for the time being. When would she have time to fit a man into her life anyways? She has me and her work and, as she puts it, “It’s full on!”
So I went to dinner with Dad at Grandma Sis’. Did I mention that she is an incredible cook, as well as a great business head? She made Dad’s favorites—roast chicken and apple pie for dessert. As we were making our way through dessert, the subject of “French Bulldogs” came up, don’t ask me how! Anyways, I started in, once again, about all the reasons why ownership of one would be the ultimate and how ready I was to take on the responsibility. My dad wanted to jump right in and solve the issue by buying a Frenchie for me and weathering the storm with my mom from his safe haven on the Island. I explained that, as much as I appreciated the offer, it wouldn’t be worth the insanity that I would endure when Mom “hit the roof” over his involvement. He backed down quite quickly, acknowledging that he wasn’t in the best of positions to cross my mother on her decisions. We all heartily agreed that he needed to stay far away from any controversy that would bring out my mother’s wrath.
The conversation took a turn and we started to discuss how the pet industry had really taken off in the last couple of years. You can’t go anywhere these days that there aren’t Big Box Pet Stores or Doggy Boutiques. On the news the other night, they showed a clip of a doggie hotel where the downtown yuppies drop off their dogs when they go on vacation. The dogs get spa treatments during their stay, flat screen TVs in their rooms, and Skype sessions in the evenings so that their owners (parents?) can say goodnight to them. There was also mention of the doggie restaurant that opened up in downtown Vancouver. The dogs sit at tables and they have organic meals to choose from. My mom gets upset when I tell her about all of this, as she has some kids at her school who don’t even arrive in the morning with breakfast. It frustrates her to think that dogs get this kind of pampering when little children are neglected and hungry. She is right, of course, but what are we supposed to do about it? I agree that it might be just a little over the top, but being as dog crazy as I am, I can understand why people get a little “nutso” over their pets. I would want to spoil my dog, too.
Dad mentioned that he takes his Westies to a dog spa. They receive specialized treatments for their coats and get pedicures and a blow dry. He admitted it is a little costly, but everyone raves about this particular doggie salon on the Island, and it is worth every cent to have the dogs feeling gorgeous and pampered. I looked over at Grandma Sis, and I could see that certain sparkle in her eye that I knew meant she was scheming. She started asking questions like what kind of qualifications did these groomers have? What kind of facility was the shop housed in? What services did they provide and how much did each service cost the dog owner? I could see her business mind just getting ramped up, and I was starting to follow where she was going with this. Dad also mentioned that the salon sold various products (not foods), but clothing items (like hoodies, plaid raincoats, etc.) and some doggie jewelry. This piqued our interest, and he explained that all dogs wear collars, but now these collars are becoming necklaces made out of special metals or beads. By this time, both Grandma and I were visualizing the gold mine of opportunities out there, just waiting for us!
And thus, this became the night that my plan began to take shape. Of course, Dad and Grandpa Bob were completely clueless that Grandma Sis and I were already projecting cash coming our way. I knew from that night on that I was going to realize my dream and my Frenchie was only a few business months away.
When I got home that night, my mind was racing. Did I have the nerve to make a business happen without confiding in my mom? I just knew that if I asked her about it, she would come up with a zillion reasons why I was too young to do this. She wouldn’t understand that I couldn’t live any longer without having my own French Bulldog and that I was willing to work for it. I would not be denied! She would argue that it would take away from my studies—little did she realize that I wasn’t actually spending much out of school time on schoolwork. My mom functions pretty much in the world of academia, and I knew that if I planned this properly, she wouldn’t really clue in to what I was doing with my time between three-thirty and six o’clock each day. She rarely got home before six-thirty every night, and when she did get home, she always had that dazed, overwhelmed look on her face that said she was still bringing “it” home with her and struggling over her next steps to help little Eddie learn to read or how to deal with irate Suzie’s father who thinks she’s being bullied by the popular girls in her class, and the list goes on…. Quite honestly, my mom loves me and all, but even though she’s dedicating her life to me, she really gives her all during the day at school and doesn’t have that much more left by the time she makes her way home. This was going to work in my favor, as I was pretty sure that she was going to be oblivious to my new extracurricular activities.
My mom isn’t really keen about the social networking aspects of technology—meaning she has a lot of hassles with kids misusing Facebook and email. Cyber bullying is a topic that she is constantly struggling with at school. She is adamant about knowing what I am using the computer for, and there are strict rules about its usage. The problem is, that for all she knows about the dangers, she really doesn’t get it as a tool that every living human being in the world is now investing a majority of time in. At high school, we’re being encouraged to use digital literacy through Twitter, blogs, Wikis, Texting, and Instant Messaging. I just seemed to pick it up by osmosis, and blogging was becoming my new pastime (mostly when Mom was at work). Up until now, all I had to blog about was French Bulldogs and share any stories I had about them from my research of the breed. I suddenly had a new purpose—I already knew I was going to blog my way through the entire process of acquiring my own Frenchie. This adventure was going to be shared with the world, and who knew, maybe someone would want to pick up my journey’s story for a movie or a book—stranger things have happened (remember the movie about Julia Child, Julie and Julia?). That very night I started my blog—“Frenchie’s Best Friend.”
BLOG of Day 1
Hello all of you French Bulldog lovers out there in cyberland. Tonight is the beginning of a journey that I can’t imagine any other Grade Eight student has ever embarked upon. That’s right, an idea was hatched tonight for how I would get around my mother’s objections about having my own French Bulldog and, in the process, develop my own business. Yep, I am determined to undermine my mom’s “barriers of entry” into the world of dog ownership. She won’t know about the business until it’s too late and I have earned enough money to buy my own dog and sustain the expenses that dog ownership incurs. By the time this happens, I will have proven to her that I am responsible and more than mature enough to manage dog ownership. She won’t have a “leg to stand on” when it comes to objecting to the idea—it will be a done deal. Well, dear readers, more about this in the days to come. Stay tuned.
Determined and Entrepreneurial,
Frenchie’s Best Friend
I went to bed that night knowing that I needed to get over to Grandma Sis’ place right away after school to start putting our plan in motion. It felt exhilarating to know that I was getting started, and nothing was going to stop me now—I knew what had to be done. And having a co-conspirator was going to be a big plus when it came to making it all happen. How lucky a guy was I to have such a conniving grandma as my “partner in crime?”
Over breakfast the next morning, I couldn’t help but broach the subject of dog ownership with my mom. It was all I could think about, and I really felt she should get one more final chance to come through on this and make me a dog owner. You can’t fault me for trying.
“Hey, Mom, guess what kind of puppy Mike’s family is going to buy this weekend?”
“Ethan, I have no idea; I know they already have a Golden Retriever, why in the world would they be buying another dog?” she asked.
“You just don’t get it, Mom, do you? Do you realize that almost every one of my friends has at least one pet? Mike’s mom is going back to work part-time, and she doesn’t want their dog to be lonely, so they’re getting a new puppy to be a playmate for Goldie. Saturday, they drive out to their dog breeders to pick out their new retriever. I think it’s an awesome idea!” I informed her.
“Yes of course you do, Ethan, and if I had the luxury of just working a few hours each week, maybe I might even consider getting you a dog, but unless I win the Lottery—that isn’t going to happen anytime soon,” she retorted.
“You know, Mom, I really think you should reconsider me having a Frenchie. They are such good company, and you would know that I wasn’t home alone after school, so you wouldn’t have to feel so bad about being away such long hours at work and having me grow up as a latch-key kid,” I begged.
“Nice try, Ethan. I’m not about to be guilted into letting you have a dog. You forget that I’m just trying to give us a life and save up enough for you to go to university. There’s no way I can contend with the added burden of caring for a dog. So be fair about this and quit hounding me!” she pleaded.
“You know I would take care of the dog and you wouldn’t have to lift a finger. And give me a break, Mom, I haven’t ever told you that I’m prepared to become a university graduate. I know school is your life, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s going to be mine.”
“I don’t understand how two university graduates could have raised a son with so little educational motivation. I knew from first grade that I was going to be an educator—it was in my blood. What in the world is going to get you moving, Ethan?” she asked.
“Mom, you might be surprised to find out what motivates me. I’d have to say money works for me. I can have freedom to do what I want to do, if I have enough cash,” I answered.
“Well, Ethan, you may have a rude awakening one of these days when you realize that money doesn’t come without a lot of effort and hard work. I think life lessons may be heading your way. Now finish your cereal and let’s get moving, we both have a full day ahead of us.”
I knew this conversation would have little effect, but I had to give her one more chance before I set my plan in motion, now, didn’t I? I felt totally “buzzed” about getting things moving; it was going to be a GREAT day! She couldn’t believe how I bounced out the door to get into the car for school! This was a totally rare occurrence, as you can imagine.
Arriving early to school gives me some time to “hang” with my friends before classes begin. Everyone likes to outdo the next with the great things they’re getting to do. Max was all excited about his parents letting him go with his older brother to the Justin Bieber concert on Saturday night. Portia was all about heading to Seattle’s Outlet Malls on the weekend, while Jane couldn’t stop talking about her dance competition coming up. Mike, of course, brought up the new puppy, and that was my opening to just let out a small tickler that I was going to become a French Bulldog owner any day now. Of course, everyone reacted with disbelief, as they all know my mom and her ability to withstand the pressure I had put on her over the last six months to get my way.
“Get out of here, Ethan,” Mike responded. “You aren’t ever going to have yourself that little French Bulldoggie. Your mama isn’t about to change her mind any time soon for you.”
“I know, I know, she isn’t going to be happy, but I think I’m about to make it happen without her consent,” I replied.
“Oh, Dude, you are going to be in so much doo-doo,” Jane taunted. “Your mother is going to disown you over this. How are you going to convince her to let you have it?”
“That’s just it, I’m not,” I answered. “I plan to earn the cash I need to buy and maintain my dog without her knowing. When she finds out, it’ll be too late, and I’ll have proven she doesn’t have an argument to stand on.”
“And just how do you think you’re going to manage that one, Ethan? We know you’re a talented guy, but come on, be real. How is she NOT going to know that you have a new puppy in the house?” Jane asked.
“Stay tuned, my disbelievers, or better yet—join my blog and follow the process online. Pick up my next installment tonight—“Frenchie’s Best Friend.” I’m about to astound and impress you all with my exceptional entrepreneurial skills.”
“Well, I say good for you, man—you deserve a dog, if anyone does,” Mike replied. “You don’t even have a bothersome brother or sister to harass you; so why shouldn’t you get a dog? I think your mom is just plain mean not letting you buy one—you’ve like wanted it forever! You let me know if there’s anything I can do to help, I’m always in for a little adventure. But remember, when your mom finds out—I didn’t know a thing. Not that I’m scared of your mom…MUCH! I really don’t want to be on her bad side; she can be pretty excitable!”
“Thanks, Mike—I’ll let you know when and if I need you to get involved. And believe me—I know firsthand what you‘re saying about my mom, but I have this cased. She isn’t going to be able to react—except to say, Welcome to the family, little Frenchie. I’m going to have the whole thing under control. So no worries! Don’t forget, you guys, read my blog tonight.”
Once the school day finally ended, I couldn’t wait to get over to Grandma Sis’ to see what she had in mind and whether we were thinking the same thing. I knew I wouldn’t be disappointed—Grandma loves a little “under the radar” action. The only problem with her being a co-conspirator that I could foresee was that she has a bit of a problem with keeping a secret. If she ever let it out (innocently, of course), Mom would “hit the roof” and my life wouldn’t be worth living! I think Grandma knows that and she’s going to be careful, because she doesn’t want to get on the wrong side of Mom, either. She knows my mom can have a temper and isn’t pleased when she catches Grandma playing her little games (No doubt it has to do with Dad having some of the same traits…). I’m totally convinced that Grandma is going to be my ideal partner in getting my way.
When I arrived at Grandma’s, the “girls” had just finished their bridge game and the party was breaking up. Grandma’s friends always make a fuss over me whenever they see me. Now that I’m a teenager, I find it a little embarrassing, but I try to be sociable, as Grandma would think I was rude if I didn’t “chat them up” just a bit.
“So Ethan, your grandma tells me there may be a new puppy in your life sometime soon,” Mrs. Porter probed.
“Well, Mrs. Porter, I am hopeful I’ll have my Frenchie before Christmas, but I have a lot to do before then.”
“Ethan, you’re such a personable young man, I’m sure whatever you set your mind to do, you can make it happen.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Porter—I hope you’re right. Time will tell, I guess. So which of you incredible card sharks won the game today?” I asked.
Everyone had a little giggle and they left the house in great spirits. Grandpa was their designated driver, as I think they had had a little glass of afternoon sherry while they played their card game. Finally, Grandma and I were alone, and I couldn’t wait to get the plan underway.
“So, Grandma, I saw your face last night while we had dinner with Dad. You were thinking like I was, weren’t you? Tell the truth, you know I can make it happen, don’t you?” I asked.
“Well, Ethan, I know how badly you want a French Bulldog. It wouldn’t be my choice of breed, but I guess that isn’t my call. But, yes, I think you’re a good boy and you should have your own dog. I disagree with your mom that you aren’t responsible enough to take care of a pet. However, that doesn’t mean that I want to risk having your mother find out I was involved in helping you go against her wishes. She isn’t the most forgiving person I’ve ever met!” she warned.
“I get that, Grandma, and I think we can do this without her having an inkling that something is going on. When she does figure it out, it will be a done deal and not even Mom could make me give up my puppy, once I have it and have proven that it’s all doable, right? You know that, once things have happened, she really doesn’t hold a grudge and just accepts it. I think my plan is totally foolproof,” I remarked.
“Yes, Ethan, okay, I agree. So let’s hear what you think you’re going to do.”
“Well, Grandma, you heard what’s going on with all the dog owners. They don’t like to do their own grooming. We have the big laundry tub in the mudroom. I can’t see why I couldn’t put out flyers in the neighborhood advertising my services between four o’clock and five-thirty each day. It can’t be that tricky to wash a dog and blow dry its coat, can it? I’d need some shampoo, a brush, and I guess I could use Mom’s blow dryer. She’d never know. Could you supply the shampoo and conditioner from your basement beauty shop? And what about a brush and comb set? You have lots of extras, right?” I asked.
“Okay Ethan, I think you’re on the right track,” Grandma agreed. “I just wonder if dog owners would put their trust into a thirteen-year-old boy for their dog’s care. I mean, you have to realize, Ethan, this is their special pet! How will they know that you aren’t going to drown it or wreck their dog’s coat? No offense intended, dear.”
“None taken, Grandma. I’ve already thought about that, too. Look, a few of my friends took the babysitting course before we left elementary school. They get babysitting jobs all the time. If I liked little kids better, I could have done that too. What I’m getting at is that, if people will trust their kids with a twelve-year-old, they can be convinced to let me groom their dog.”
“You know that I have my own clients Ethan. I won’t be able to help you groom these dogs. At seventy-two, I still like making money, but it has to be done in between bridge and my stories. I can’t be lifting dogs into laundry tubs. I’ve turned into such a weakling!” she warned.
“Oh no, Grandma Sis, I never expected you to,” I replied. “I’m just looking for your advice because you’re experienced in business and I need someone to confide in. I may need to ask some small favors along the way, but I’ll try not to be too much trouble.”
“Ethan, it warms my heart to see my grandson have the determination to work for the thing he wants most. You might just be a ‘chip off the old block’! So, how do you propose getting this business underway and how are you going to make sure your mom doesn’t find out about it? We’ll both be in the ‘doghouse’ if she does!” she warned emphatically.
“Well, I was thinking last night about how I was going to get clients. I can’t have them phoning the house to get bookings, because Mom could answer the phone. I know she usually does her email and computer work at school, so I might be able to get away with online booking through a hotmail address,” I suggested.
“Now you’re speaking Greek to me. How in the world does that work, Ethan?” Grandma Sis asked.
“It’s kind of hard to explain, Grandma, but it’s like when you use your cell phone. Sometimes people text message you—so you get a message instantly, but you don’t need to speak to them. Since Mom won’t let me have my own cell (It’s another one of her beefs—kids are bringing them to school, phones are ringing in class, kids are taking inappropriate pictures and posting them on the web, they distract from the learning…), so I’ll have to depend upon email through our home computer. It’ll work, but the first hurdle is going to be drumming up some customers,” I explained to my technically challenged Grandma.
“Well, we know that real doggie spas charge ‘an arm and a leg,’ so if people pay cash and get a big discount from their usual fee, I think neighborhood dog owners will be happy to give you their business,” she replied.
“That’s why I thought I’d just hand deliver flyers over the next couple of days and see if anyone bites. Don’t you think that, once I have some satisfied customers, they’ll spread the word to their friends?” I asked.
“I think so. You just have to get it started and then you’ll find that you’ll be booked solid. But just between you and me—have you ever even bathed a dog before?” she inquired.
“Actually, no, but I thought you might lend Cher to me today and I would take her home with my supplies and give it a go. That way, I can honestly say in my flyer that I’m a truly experienced groomer,” I answered.
“Oh, Ethan, of course you can wash Cher, but you know how fussy Grandpa Bob is about his ‘little lady’; he likes her to be totally glamorous at all times! I’ll put together your kit of shampoos, conditioners, and brushes, but you’ll need to find a good hiding place for all of this, so your mom doesn’t notice. And, Ethan, you might want to talk to me about where to keep your earnings once the money starts rolling in…” (Grandma Sis is big on investments and making your money work for you.)
I left Grandma Sis’ with my arms full of a dog washing kit with Cher in tow, much to her dissatisfaction. She wasn’t entirely convinced that she wanted to leave the comfort of her loving home to accompany me around the block with all of those bathing supplies, as she is clever and recognized a “bad sign” when she saw one. Grandma Sis didn’t look quite as relaxed with our plan, either, as she did before I told her that I would need to practice my technique on her darling Cher. Funny how that works!
Maybe there was good reason for her to have some misgivings. Let’s just say, it wasn’t as easy as one may have anticipated. First of all, moving stubborn Cher down the street away from home was a little tricky, since she decided to put the brakes on and I had my hands full. I swear this dog is so spoiled that she actually gets away with temper tantrums. She wouldn’t budge. I stopped to get a better grasp of her leash and it fell out of my hand. That little “poof ball” took advantage of the situation and started hightailing it back to Grandma’s. I luckily stepped on the leash and stopped her dead in her tracks. Although, dead did go through my mind, as just when I stepped on the leash, she toppled and quit moving momentarily. I held my breath wondering how I would explain her demise to my grandparents. Of course she was just being dramatic and thought she could get her way if she played dead. I was so upset with her, I just yanked on the leash and pulled her all the way back to my house. Man she is one stubborn little dog—I swear she knew what I had in store for her!
I no sooner got her in the door and started to fill the laundry tub with water, than she did a piddle right in the middle of my mom’s pristine hardwood kitchen floor. I couldn’t believe it—they think kids are defiant—think again! I scooped her up and locked her in the laundry room. Then I frantically used up all the paper towels that were left on the roll to mop up the mess. Of course I needed to hide the evidence of the accident, so I ran the towels out to the trashcan in the garage. As I walked back into the house, I could hear a scratching and splashing sound coming from the laundry room. Do you remember the sound that they used in that old classic thriller, Jaws, whenever the shark was about to target another human? That’s what came to mind… the “doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo” building before he struck his next victim. No lies—when I opened the door, here was Grandma and Grandpa’s little darling looking up at me innocently with paint chips attached to her nails and floating in water. How had this happened? I had been gone, what, all of three minutes tops?
I just wanted to plop her right into that overflowing tub of ice cold water, but I grabbed hold of my senses and shouted, “STAY you little brat!” while I quickly turned off the laundry tub facet and pulled the plug. Mercifully, the little heathen listened and didn’t move a muscle. I don’t think anyone had ever spoken to her in that tone before.
Another twenty minutes was spent refilling the tub, mopping up the excess spilled water and wondering how I was going to hide the scratches on the inside of my mom’s laundry room door. Oh well, first things first, I had to give Cher her bath. Just as I grabbed for her to put her in the bath, she stopped me cold with a snarl that would have freaked Arnold Schwarzenegger! I’m not kidding you; the lovely precious Cher was actually baring her teeth. I swiftly clamped my hand over her snout and scooped her up with my other hand, landing her immediately in the middle of the tub. Of course, I hadn’t really thought about the depth of the water, and she immediately had to revert to dog paddling.
Once again, the plug was pulled to let the water out. The squirming, writhing ball of fur in my hands wasn’t about to show me any mercy. She had no intention of letting me calmly administer the shampoo and give her a soothing spa experience. Oh no, she continued to wriggle and thrash, splashing water (yes, I was as completely soaked as the laundry room floor), as I struggled to get a dab of shampoo worked into her coat. I jest when I say “dab.” Grandma was great about giving me a liter of her “ladies’ shampoo”—only she didn’t give me a pump, so when I tried to get a small amount out, it flowed out like a raging river, and dear Cher was completely covered in the shampoo slick. (You’ve seen the poor ducks covered in oil slick after a spill… it was kind of like that…) I wasn’t going to let this little setback deter me. Oh no, I began to massage this quivering mass of slick into Cher’s fur. Bewildering as it was to me, the soap appeared to multiply and there were mounds of soapsuds two feet deep. I pulled the plug once again, but the suds didn’t seem to dissipate. If anything, it looked like they were multiplying and about to suffocate poor Cher.
I realized that no amount of rinsing was going to get rid of the soapsuds in time, so I whisked Cher out of the laundry tub and ran her through the kitchen and down the hall to the main bathroom. I dropped her into the tub—paying no attention whatsoever to the drips all along my path, and turned on the shower. Of course, in my haste to rescue Cher from bubble suffocation, I forgot to close the shower curtain. Now I had two rooms under water!
Cher was totally indignant by this time—she couldn’t believe how obscenely she had been treated! It took all my strength to keep her under the water stream, as she tried to paw her way out of the tub. Finally, I figured she was sufficiently rinsed, so I grabbed my towel off the towel rod and wrapped the poor wet rag into it. Boy did she smell “doggie”—I couldn’t help thinking how my towel was going to reek.
Now Grandma had been explicit that Cher with her puffy white hair, must have her coat conditioned. By this time, it was five-thirty, Mom would be home soon and, quite honestly, there was no way I could tackle trying to redo the process in the laundry tub one more time. So, instead, I gave her a good rub down in my towel and the minute I took the towel away she started to race, shake her coat and bark like no one’s business. It took me at least ten minutes to corral her in the kitchen and get the leash back on her. By this time, her coat had dried, but it wasn’t looking like her usual puff ball hairdo—if you can picture the tufts of hardened, soap-soaked peaks with a flat head. Hmmm, how was I going to get away with this? It occurred to me, ever so gently, that maybe, just maybe, I had a little more to learn about grooming before I sent out those flyers.
With no time to waste, I scurried Cher, the drowned rat, back to Grandma’s. I was feverish with worry that mom would walk in on the disaster at home and my plans would be dashed on the very first day. Grandma and Grandpa took one look at me and their darling Cher, shook their heads, and made for the salon sink downstairs to rinse their poor dear’s coat. Not a word passed their lips other than, “We will talk.” (I’m pretty sure my co-conspirator was starting to have second thoughts about the plan, at this point.)
I raced back home and into the kitchen to hear the tail end of a voicemail message where Mom was explaining that she was dealing with a discipline crisis at school and would be about a half hour late. “Thank you, God!” was all I could say.
When Mom showed up totally dazed and done, she couldn’t believe that I had soup heating, the whites going in the laundry room (my towel really did stink), and that I had just taken a shower. She was so impressed with my understanding and caring, it made me feel a little guilty that I had, in fact, smeared toothpaste on the laundry room scratches. You would have to wash it or look really closely to know they were there. She didn’t suspect a thing and I thought, “Boy am I good!”
BLOG of Day 2:
Well, my French Bulldog fans, let me tell you, it’s been a day! Although it had a few “ups and downs,” I am still confident that I can make this happen. Today was my first experience at washing a dog (thankfully it was Grandma Sis’), and it turned out to be quite a “gong show.” I won’t give you the gory details, suffice it is to say that Cher (my grandma’s Bichon Frisé) returned home in much worse condition than when she was picked up. I may not be quite as equipped to get my Doggie Wash business up and running as quickly as I originally thought. There seems to be an actual technique that one must develop. I think I need to do some research into doggie wash skills before I deliver my flyers. Grandma and I will debrief after school tomorrow, and I think maybe I should try this once again…poor Cher! As for my mother, I was so lucky that she was delayed at work—otherwise she would have caught me in the midst of all the chaos! Tonight I research and tomorrow I continue to develop my grooming skills. I’m still a believer that my Frenchie is going to be mine before long.
Determined and Entrepreneurial,
Frenchie’s Best Friend
Chapter 6: What’s the Big Deal?
All that craziness yesterday really took its toll on me; I could barely get myself out of bed. This was probably a good thing as this is more like the real Ethan. My mom would never expect me to be bounding out of bed in anticipation of going to school.
She scared me big time, as she wrinkled her nose during breakfast and asked me if I smelled anything. I quickly denied that there was any kind of smell, but I could tell she wasn’t convinced. Of course, it was Cher’s dog pee she smelled—I had totally forgot about it and by then the smell had soaked into the hardwood. Oh, if she knew the truth…
My friends were waiting for me when I arrived at school. They had all read the blog and were dying to hear the details of what really occurred. As I entertained them with all of yesterday’s insanity, they had lots to say about my antics.
Jane, always a little negative, remarked, “Face it, Ethan, you’re beyond help. No one goes into a business not knowing the first thing about it. Who’s going to entrust their dog with you? I certainly wouldn’t.”
“Thanks so much, Jane, for your usual vote of confidence. I’ll keep that in mind, as I rake in all those dollars and get my Frenchie,” I retorted.
“I think you can do this, Ethan, but I believe you may need BIG MIKE’S support. I obviously know a lot about dogs and dog behavior, having had one since I was a baby. Honestly, man, I think you better lean a little on your friends,” Mike suggested.
“Thanks, Mike, I knew you’d get it. Of course you can give me a little help, whenever you have time—you’re my man!”
“Well I personally think I’m just going to have a good time reading your blog every night. What could be more entertaining than to have a good laugh over all of your fumbling and mess-ups? Just keep them coming, friend!” Portia mocked.
“I’m so glad that I’m able to keep you amused, Portia, of course that’s my main goal,” I replied.
Max provoked me with, “Well, dude, you keep trucking—I say you’ll be rolling in dough before long and then it is doggie ownership for you! I’ve always liked your style, my friend, just dive right in without knowing anything. What’s the big deal? Who says those spas hire people with any training anyways?”
“Yeah, Max—thanks for the support; I think. If I can pass French, I can certainly learn how to wash a dog properly. Keep reading my blog—it’s only going to get better,” I encouraged them.
I was truthfully faking it a bit on the bravado side with my friends—I mean, really, after yesterday, I knew I was going to have to get a lot better at this to make it work. But maybe it’s like Max says, it’s my style to jump in full-heartedly and then make it work; some people are just made that way. Now, I had to get over to Grandma Sis’ house right after school and convince her to let me practice on Cher, yet again. Quite honestly, Cher kind of “freaked me out” yesterday with all of her snarling and craziness, but I’d just breathe deeply and hopefully get through it. Luckily for me, Mom had a staff meeting after school, so she would never make it home before six-thirty. The coast was clear to continue on.
After school, it was directly over to Grandma Sis’ for me. When I arrived, Aunt Irene was just getting the finishing touches put on her hairdo in the basement salon. I can be a real schmooze when I need to be.
“Wow, Aunt Irene, don’t you look like a “10” with that great do! You’ll have to fight off all the guys in your apartment block when they see you walk down the hall.” Aunt Irene is what Grandma refers to as an “Old Maid.” This means she never got married and doesn’t have any kids of her own. Of course, she loves any attention she gets, just like Grandma Sis lives for compliments. (A guy’s got to do what a guy’s got to do, right?)
“Oh, Ethan, you are such a little smoothie. Speaking of which, are the girls chasing you pretty hard these days at school?” asked Aunt Irene.
“Yeah, it’s really tough being such a “chick magnet” like me, Aunt Irene—the girls just never leave me alone!” (wink, wink, nudge, nudge)
“Well, Ethan, just remember, when girls grow up, they look for men with educations and good jobs. You just focus on your schoolwork, and you will never have a problem attracting those girls!” Of course, you guessed it; Aunt Irene is a retired primary teacher. I swear half the family is in education. Where did I come from?
As soon as Aunt Irene left, Grandma Sis came straight to the point. “Okay, Ethan, what exactly did you do to our little Cher yesterday? She’s completely traumatized and wouldn’t come out of her bed, after we finished rinsing and blow drying her coat. She hasn’t been herself all day.”
“Well, Grandma, I’m not going to lie to you. I had quite a time with Cher yesterday. She didn’t want to cooperate, and my inexperience at grooming was totally obvious to her. However, I think I learned a few things yesterday and know now how to manage her and the bathing more professionally. I obviously really need practice to get more confident with it. Could you see yourself lending me Cher again, today, while Mom’s at her staff meeting? It’ll give me a chance to try the whole thing once more and put into practice some of the things I messed up on yesterday,” I begged.
“As you can see, Ethan, Cher hasn’t come out to greet you. I take that as a sign that she hasn’t forgiven you for the angst you caused her yesterday. Do you have any idea how you’re going to win back her trust? Our little Cher had nightmares after her episode with you yesterday; the poor little puppy was actually howling and whimpering in her sleep!”
“I totally apologize, Grandma, and maybe the first thing I needed to do was to ask you for some pointers about dealing with Cher when you bathe her. I read last night that by getting insight from the dog owners before touching the dog, eases the problems we encountered yesterday. So, what do you say, Grandma, you’ll give me some pointers and then let me try bathing her one more time? You will, won’t you, Grandma Sis, p-l-e-a-s-e?” I pleaded.