Atomic Nerds

Just about everybody has heard the old saw that tradgedy plus time equals comedy. From the appearance of the Titanic in “Ghostbusters 2″ to various Hindenburg jokes, this pattern plays out again and again. Some of you all may remember that a few months back, we took Kang to her first dog show. LabRat noted at the time that her take on the event was somewhat different from mine. Well, time and the fact that there is another show looming in her immediate future have given me the urge to look back and remember just what happened that weekend in May.

The entire ordeal started out on shaky ground. When LabRat first got the invitation to the show, the timing was less than convenient right out the gate. In a best-case scenario, we would’ve driven to Albuquerque with Kang on a Friday to drop her off, driven back on Sunday to pick her up, and then driven right back on Monday for the tattoo appointment I had already scheduled a month or so in advance. With an even hundred miles from Los Alamos to Albuquerque as the redneck drives, this six hundred mile plan did not seem terribly appealing.

After a bit of debate, organizing, cajoling and general acts of juggling, we wound up with a reasonable plan. We would drive down on Friday, drop Kang off with her breeder for showing, and then spend a leisurely weekend in the Big City, tending to our myriad of standing errands to run whenever we’re someplace with more than a half dozen or so retail stores. With fingers crossed, we called Mark in hopes of moving my tattoo from Monday to either Friday afternoon or Saturday. While the show would be a trifle inconvenient and certainly a tad expensive what with the hotel room, it seemed do-able at least.

In retrospect, given Murphy’s residence in this house despite our best efforts to evict the bastard, that should have been a warning sign that all hell was about to break loose.

The Friday in question eventually rolled around. With the schedule calling for Kang to be on-site and ready to go shortly after noon, this left us with considerably less time than we would have prefered in the morning to attend to all last minute details and arrangements. Kodos had to be dropped with my parents for the weekend, LabRat’s habit of not packing until the jet is taxiing down the runway, as it were, and my general aversion to mornings (which for the purposes of this post, I will blame on LabRat, as before I met her rising at 5am was reasonably common for me), and all the last minute “what will we need for the show?” factors had to be accounted for. Before this morning, I was led to believe that Kang would be washed at the show grounds, as they would presumably have better equipment to handle the operation, and she would need Proper Grooming, whatever the hell that was, before she went into the ring anyway. Instead, while in the midst of gathering my last items before mistakenly believeing myself ready to leave, LabRat marched a confused looking Kang up to me and wanted to know when I was going to wash her this morning.

Having only minimal coffee in my system at that point, I made my first mistake of the weekend, one which I would sadly repeat as time went on. I froze in confusion.

“What? She’s getting a bath down there, remember?”
“Yeah, but I just went over the schedule and she’ll need more time to dry and if we get that out of the way here we can -” She went on like this. I relented.

Bathing the dogs here is a tricky proposition at best. With one well over 100lbs, and the other just shy of same, control becomes something of an issue. As such, it winds up considerably easier to simply coax/drag/shove/bait the dog into the shower stall, and climb in with it to perform the scrubdown. I’m sure your own mind can fill in the details of a grown man and a nervous large dog in a shower stall attempting to engage in vigorous acts of scrubbing. There was much howling involved and some disturbing amounts of licking the shower door. I am pleased to note that I had no part in the licking of the shower door.

With Kang’s shower done, and my second shower just begining so I could remove the 20lbs of loose fur she shed (which through one of the few bright spots of luck for the weekend did not clog the drain), we were only running slightly behind schedule. We packed up the dogs and our luggage and the assorted support gear we deemed necessary for Kang into the truck and made for my parent’s house to drop of Kodos. A short ride, and one the dogs have made many times, this was uneventful. Once we reached the highway, however, things changed.

It should be noted at this point that, despite my best efforts, Kang is a daddy’s girl. When we first went to pick her up from the breeder at the tender age of eight weeks, it was love at first sight for her. While the breeder dealt with another couple who happened to be picking their puppy up the same day and were on their way out, we were asked to simply have a seat and enjoy the puppies. Puppies! Fuzzy! Cute! Cuddly! Et cetera! Plopping myself down on the floor to pet the little balls of fluff, the one that was to be Kang trundled over to me and gave me a vigorous sniffing. She then stomped through my lap, leaving of course no delicate bits un-squished, marched a few feet away, peed on the floor, and then marched back to curl up and fall asleep in my lap. Aside from the location where she pees, surprisingly little has changed since. Anyway, back to the highway.

On the short drives to my parent’s house, or to the vet, Kang had traditionally been happy to look out the windows, or annoy Kodos, or occasionally stick her head up toward the front seat for a quick ear scritch. For longer rides, she apparently gets nervous. When nervous, she seems to want reassurance from daddy. Thus, for the next two hours, I learned to pilot a full-size pickup with dangerously insufficient caffeine in my system through the New Mexico highways and interstates with this head planted firmly on my shoulder, breathing wetly into my ear. At least I probably blended in with the rest of the drunks finally going home.

Arriving in Albuquerque, we had left time for lunch. This went surprisingly smoothly, despite the gigantic fuzzy mooch in the back seat. We called Mark to see about the tattoo reschedule, and for the most part the biggest worries of the weekend were the early morning and the unexpected bath. Then we tried to get Kang to the show, and that is where engines 2, 3, and 4 caught fire, the controls locked, fuel pressure went out, the bombadier puked all over and all the guns jammed. Metaphorically speaking of cousre.

After three or four passes on one of Albuquerque’s busier streets attempting to find the lone open gate to the appropriate area of the state fair grounds, we finally found a way in. We promptly blew our other lone piece of luck for the weekend by getting past the gatekeeper without paying a parking fee on the grounds that we were simply dropping the dog off to be shown, and wouldn’t be staying. We pulled in to an area reasonably near where the show was supposedly being held, and tried to call the breeder. Meanwhile, our lunch stop not having bathroom facilities easy to access, or of general maintenance above “might not explode,” my bladder was threatening dire consequences if I didn’t find at the very least a secluded shrubbery. Leaving the phone and dog in LabRat’s care, I set off to the clearly labled facilities in plain view from the parking lot. As it turned out, those facilities had not been unlocked since shortly after the fairgrounds were first built. With a few choice phrases directed at the door locks, I went in search of other suitable facilities.

Twenty minutes of marching through the mid-90-degree heat and relatively high humidity of Albuquerque in May, the only option availible was a vacant horse stall. After a series of looks from my neighbor, which I presume translated from horse into “Dude, aren’t you done yet?” I made my way back to the truck to find that LabRat had still not managed to reach the breeder. Taking Kang from her, she went in search of anybody who could point us in the right direction. At this point, regardless of the impact to the morning’s schedule, I was glad we had bathed her at home, since showtime was looming a fair bit closer than we had originally planned. In my head, by this point in the day, Kang would have been well off with the breeder, we would have checked into the hotel, and the leisurely weekend would be well underway, checking out various interesting looking shops we never had time to stop into before and the like. Eventually, LabRat came back into sight, moving at a fairly brisk pace compared to normal. Having finally found the breeder’s area, she reported, we threw all our stuff small enough to fit into the cab of the truck, crossed our fingers about the dog’s crate (the Albuquerque fairgrounds are not in the low-crime section of town) and went to make the handoff.

At this point, the fourth engine burst into flame, half the starboard wing fell off, the ball-turret gunner went plummeting off towards the green earth below, the radio went out, and the last transmission from friendly territory involved phrases like “on fire” and “court-martial.” Metaphorically speaking, of course.

“Oh, great! You’re finally here!” the breeder announced. “Sorry, my phone was in the glove-box in the car. Been kinda busy here. Look, the show is in about an hour and a half, which will be just enough time to- oh no! You didn’t groom her?!”
“We gave her a bath before we lef-”
“Throw her — what’s her name again?”
“Ka-”
“Throw her up on that table and get her groomed. There are tools on the other table where they’re grooming Uzi right now. Don’t get too close to her head, she’s cranky.”
“Uz- ?”
“I’ve got to run talk to the judge for a minute and get some other details squared away. You don’t mind and have time for this, right?” I repeated my earlier mistake and hesitated, confused.
“Um, I gue-”
“Great. Do you know how to groom.” It was not a question.
“What?”
“Oh. Frickin’ great. Ok, get her on the table and just start brushing her real good. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

We got Kang up on the table in question, and not knowing what else to do, set about our usual procedure for getting loose hair and undercoat off her. Uzi’s crankiness (and yes, the other akita was named Uzi, and yes, after the gun) had been fortunately overstated, and amounted to giving me a friendly lick as I moved past. LabRat held Kang’s collar and I worked her over with an undercoat rake and shedding blade I found nearby. The breeder came back into view, moving at full steam.

“What are you doing!? I said start grooming her! It’s nearly show time!”
“I -”
“Here, get this noose over her head so we can control her.”
“She-”
“Raise that post to keep her head in the right spot.”
“It -”
“Twist the other knob.”
“Ok.”
“We’ll start with her nails. She’s fidgety, so control her head. Just put her in a headlock.”
“Right.”
At this point, Kang felt it prudent to become involved in the process.
“ARRRRooooWWWOOoooOWWWOWOOOO!”
“Aw, you’re a fidgeter aren’tcha! Hold her head tighter.”
“Right.” I clamped down on my headlock.
“ARRROOOWWAHAHAAAARROOOOOAHHHH AHHHH AHHHH!!!”
“Tighter!”
“Right.”
“ARRROOOOOOOAAAAOOOOOOHHHOOOOOWWWWWWOOOOOoooOooOOOohwwwaaaO”
“Too tight. You’re hurting her.”
“Oooh-kay.” I eased off the headlock. Kang instantly transformed into a land-based Marlin. At least this is the closest description I can muster for the transformation in to “wildly-bucking and howling fur-beast.”
“Ok, put your fingers under her chin like this - ” she jammed two fingers under my chin for demonstration - “and push up like this” - which she also demonstrated on me. “That’ll control her head without making her afraid you’ll choke her.”
“And who’s idea was the choking?”
“Huh? Just push up.”
“Right.”

“AROOOMMPFFOOOOPMMMMMOOOOO!”
“Harder!”
“Right!”
“AROOOOMMMMMMPPFFFFOOMMMFPFF!”
“HARDER!”
“RIGHT!”
“ARRROMMMMFFOOOOOOOOFFFMMMMMOOOOOOO!”
“Too hard!”
“But you said -”
“You’re pushing too hard, it’s scaring her!”
“You just told me to-”
“You’re a crybaby, aren’t you!” She bonked Kang on the nose. Kang gave me a confused look. I returned it. “Ok, her nails are done. You can do her coat, right?”
“Huh?” I began to wonder why she was turning to me for all this, while LabRat hovered nearby.
“Oh, God. Ok. Take this,” she handed me a collection of brushes, “this,” a squirt bottle filled with something, “these,” more squirt bottles, “and this” a shop-vac set to blow, “and {perform a miracle}. Got it?” I’d offer a more detailed account of what she actually said in place of “perform a miracle,” but really, that’s about all I got out of her instructions.
“Well, I — ” she flipped the shop-vac to high.
“I’ll be over here working on Uzi, so I can walk you through it from there!” she yelled over the noise. Unfortunately, with the noise, all I heard was “I’ll…. work…. uzi…you…there!” I was unsure if I should take that as a threat, not having yet confirmed that the dog’s name was Uzi.

From there, through a series of interpretive dances, wild hand gestures, and a growing cloud of removed fur, Kang was Groomed. Kang did not like being Groomed. The only thing louder than the shop vac were Kang’s howls of disapproval and torment. Judging from the noises coming from this previously 99% quiet creature, it would be quite reasonable to conclude we were performing surgery sans anesthesia. The shop vac howled. Kang howled louder. I choked and sputtered as the cloud of fur reached densities high enough to spark fears in the back of my mind that gravity would take over and the cloud would condense and reach the point necessary to start a fusion reaction. My shirt was no longer blue, and the stubble I had foolishly failed to shave earlier in the morning was gathering such quantities of airborn fuzz that I’m told I took on a rather akita-like appearance myself, only with my mouth forming much more clear profanity, thankfully for bystanders drowned out by the shop-vac.

Forty seven hours later, the grooming was complete. Kang was resplendant in her show coat, fluffed to a volume I did not believe she was capable of, and looking every bit the (rather shocked and confused) ring queen. From there, we discovere (as LabRat mentioned in the original post), that Kang expected us to save her from this bizarre world of chaos and confusion we had thrust her into whenever she could see us. I sympathized, and was hoping someone would save us. We were thus banished from watching her compete. Hovering around, trying to keep a layer of spectators thick enough to keep her from noticing us, but thin enough to have some idea if we were even looking at our dog, the show progressed. Unaccustomed to being handled in such a manner, Kang dug her heels in and gave donkeys a good run for the title of “Most Stubborn.” Then, waving her front paw wildly about in the most clear demonstration of “DO NOT WANT” I have ever witnessed, she punched the judge in the face. The judge, a burly woman, took it in stride, fortunately. We later learned that she was a former U.S. Marine, which explained a lot.

In the midst of trying to watch the show, my accursed phone rang. The tattoo shop was calling about the reschedule. To make things worse, rather than hearing Mark as I expected, I heard a female voice. Apparently the shop had finally found some help to run the counter, adding just that extra dash of confusion for good measure. In keeping with our luck for the day, the only session possible other than the original as scheduled, was that very evening at 7pm. And as LabRat mentioned in the other post, we had for some reason agreed to have dinner with the local Akita club after the show. At 6pm.

Finally, the show wrapped up. I was more than a little concerned about the timing issues at this point. The last time we had been to our breeder’s house, where Kang would be spending the weekend, it was in a location best described as “Way The Fuck Out There,” at least 30 minutes each way, and it was already 5:20. Amazingly, she had moved to a location only slightly The Fuck Out There, and we were able to pack up dogs and equipment and make it from the middle of Albuquerque to the north end of town in reasonable time. Of course, when we got there, we discovered that Kang had picked up a case of worms from one of her kills. Nothing quite like marching your dog to the expert’s turf and noticing a white wriggler sticking out of her butt after a day like that to make you look like a competent owner, I can tell you that.

With dinner scheduled back near the fairgrounds for 6pm, we were a trifle behind schedule at this point. I will save the lurid description of the drive from breeder’s to restaraunt that I suspect LabRat would qualify as “death defying” and “bone chilling” because such claims are obvious hyperbole and have little in common with how the drive actually went. I will say that the engineers at Dodge did a hell of a job, because a full size pickup isn’t normally a vehicle folks consider capable of maneuvering well at 90mph through moderate to heavy traffic. Good acceleration too.

As we arrived at the eatery, it became obvious that we were a very distinct minority in considering punctuality that important. The judge Kang punched was there (once a Marine, always a Marine), and one other couple. The couple promptly began condescending to us, while the Marine was friendly to LabRat. Unfortunately, I missed a key section of conversation whilst washing up (buttworms before dinner? No thanks), and so some of the Marine’s conversation seemed a tad down her nose at us as well.

Finally, after a dinner in which I could not have understood less, we made it to the tattoo shop. I had never been so glad to be in agonizing pain before in my life. Mark was working over a section of my ribs which wasn’t technically the worst spot possible as far as pain generation, but was very high on the list. Throughout relating the day to Mark and the other artists, I think it tells all that needs saying that they all commented that nobody had sat that still for that much in that section in their memory. It was just that big an improvement over the rest of the day.

Finally, the day was over. Wondering if our reservation would still be good, we trekked off to the hotel. As we pulled into the parking lot, our luck held. The lot was full of school buses. A girl’s softball team was in town for whatever it is they do, and they had chosen the very same hotel we were in. And yes, they were on the same floor as us. In the next room on either side.

If you don’t hear back from us after this next show, I think you can safely deduce what happened. Hopefully the spot on “America’s Most Wanted” will be flattering.

Posted Dogblogging, OK so this one time... |