CONTENT WARNING: Animal Neglect (Happy Ending!)

I’ve just clocked in as a groomer at an independent pet store. I look at my schedule for the day and see that all of my appointments have been scrubbed and my manager has just written, “SEE ME, EMERGENCY,” in big letters. Colour me intrigued but also concerned.

I walk across the building to my manager’s office and find her consoling a woman around my age — mid-twenties. There’s a husky frantically trying to lick her face, but the dog yelps every time it moves. It’s climbed into its owner’s lap. I can see from across the room that the poor thing is covered in matted fur, which has tangled so badly near its legs that it can’t stand or move without pulling at the skin and causing pain. The poor dog is also filthy, and someone has clearly tried to shave or chop off some of the matting and nicked the dog several times. The vet we usually get out for sedation and such is standing there, as bewildered as I am.

Manager: “Oh, good, here’s [My Name]! Sweetheart, I told you I would find you the very best to help Nymeria, and she’s it. If anyone can help her, it’s [My Name], okay? And [Vet] is here to have a look at the cuts. They don’t look too bad to me, but we’ll get it sorted out, okay?” 

Dog Owner: *Still crying and hiccuping* “I h-h-had to move here for my new j-j-job, and I left her with my brother. My h-h-house wasn’t ready, and she’d have been miserable in a flat. I s-s-sent him the money to take her to the groomer, but he never took her, and it’s been six months! The airport p-p-people said she cried the whole flight—”

She’s cut off by the dog yelping because her leg slid off the owner’s lap, which causes the owner to start sobbing even louder. My heart breaks; this poor girl clearly loves her dog. I can hear the vet muttering under his breath something unkind about the brother.

Me: “Okay. Deep breaths, everyone! Right. Tears aren’t helping, and they’re upsetting Nymeria. We can fix this. Could you introduce me?”

I was introduced to Nymeria who, to her credit, despite her pain, only gave me about thirty seconds of the husky side-eye before she realized I had dehydrated chicken livers in my pocket. After that, I think she would have gone home with me.

The vet checked the nicks out and found nothing but some surface scratches. There was one particularly deep one near her rear end that he popped some antiseptic on, and then he gave us the go-ahead.

He asked if she usually needed sedation for grooming. By then, my manager had gotten hold of the customer’s old groomer, who was LIVID at the brother. When Nymeria didn’t come in on schedule, she assumed the owner had figured out the housing situation quicker than she expected and had already brought her to live in our town. She gave me some tips for Nymeria — not a biter but tries to escape when you clip her paws, does fine with a sprayer but tries to eat shampoo, and not bothered by a blow dryer but LOVES to sing. She’d been grooming Nymeria since she was a puppy and said she was very loved, well-trained, and all round the goodest girl. She did thankfully warn me that Nymeria was not a typical husky; I couldn’t really tell through all the dirt and matting, but she’s wooly coated, which added an extra layer of complication.

Nymeria let me carry her to the bathtub, happy as could be, inspecting my ear for any hidden treats. It took me seven hours to painstakingly wash, brush, trim, and dry her, but she was a trooper. When I finally had her legs unmatted and she stood up without pain for the first time, she spun in circles for ten minutes and ran around the room like a wind-up toy to get a few months’ worth of zoomies out all at once.

She needed a more extensive haircut than I would have typically given a double-coated dog, but I’m confident that she’ll recover. She went home feeling like a whole new dog with a very grateful owner, who booked a standing appointment every three weeks for the rest of the year on the spot.

I still hope her brother steps on a Lego, though.

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Customer: *Complaining.* “Why do you have the air-con on?”

Me: “Because it’s 40°C outside.”

A lot of people are still sat outside ’cause Australia, but anyway:

Customer: “I know [Owner]! I’m going to complain to him about how cold it is in here! There’s no one even in here anyway!”

Me: “Yes, I have six staff working in here right now, but they don’t count as people…”

A few years ago, I lost my job. One of the conditions of collecting unemployment benefits was that I had to attend a meeting once a month with a “provider” who would supposedly help me look for suitable jobs to apply for.

One month, I called in — three days ahead, so not even last minute — to ask if I could reschedule the meeting.

I was told that a job interview was really not a sufficient reason to reschedule with them, but they would do it this time.

Four weeks ago:

Mum: “I still don’t understand why you’re getting an induction cooktop. There’s nothing wrong with the one you have.”

Me: “I told you. They’re easier to work with, they cook faster, they use less power, they’re safer for kids, and most importantly, they’re so much easier to clean! I hate cleaning.”

Mum: “But the cooktop you have now is perfectly fine! Why don’t you just change it out when it breaks down?”

Me: “Well then, I’d have to wait years to get all these things that I want. I don’t want to wait. I want to have it now.”

Mum: “Such a shame.”

Me: “I can sell my cooktop on [Website] or something, it’s not a complete waste.”

Mum: “You won’t get much for it on [Website].”

Me: “I’ll get nothing for it if I wait until it breaks down to get rid of it.”

Three weeks ago:

Mum: “But will the new cooktop even fit in the same spot?”

Me: “Yes, of course. I measured everything; it’s gonna fit.”

Mum: “It’ll probably look ugly.”

Me: “It’ll look fine. What are you talking about? If anything, it’ll look better! It’s so sleek and modern and flat.”

Mum: “I think they’re overrated. You know, your uncle bought one, spent so much money on it, and he’s not happy with it.”

Me: “Okay, well, I’m not [Uncle]. I’ve been wanting one for years. Literally, ever since I found out what they were, I’ve wanted one. I’m getting one.”

Two weeks ago:

Mum: “You’re gonna have to change out all your cookware.”

Me: “Not all of it, but yes, I’ll probably have to get some new pans. I’m okay with that.”

Mum: “You know you won’t be able to cook with a wok anymore.”

Me: “…Okay, that’s true. But I don’t use the wok that much. I can get a flat-bottomed wok. Hey, eventually, I could even get an outdoor setup, and I can use a wok there.”

Mum: “…”

Me: “You know, a lot of Asians do that.”

Mum was unable to argue with this logic.

Last week:

Mum: “I just think it’s such a waste of a perfectly good cooktop…”

Me: “Again?! For God’s sake, Mum. I want an easy-to-clean cooktop; that’s important for me, and that’s it.”

Mum: “You know you’re gonna have to clean it after every time you use it.”

Me: “Duh.”

Mum: “You can’t leave spills on it overnight. A gas cooktop, you can be lazy and clean it in the morning. Your new induction one, you’ll damage it if you don’t clean it promptly.”

Me: “And I will.”

Mum: “I mean, is it really gonna be easier to clean if you have to clean it after every time—”

Me: “Oh, my God, Mum, it’s one wipe to clean it. I’m practically looking forward to it!”

Mum: “Well, it’s your house, I guess…”

Me: “Yes, it is!“

Mum: “Such a nice cooktop you’re getting rid of, though…”

Me: *Facepalm*

Today:

Mum: “I don’t know, our cooktop is so old. I really want a new one. I just don’t know where to start.”

Me: “Well, how about I give you my old cooktop? The one I’ll be replacing. Like you keep telling me, it’s perfectly good.”

Mum: “No, that won’t work at all. Yours is a five-burner; you have the kitchen space for it. Our kitchen is tiny. There’s no space to put such a big cooktop.”

Me: “What are you talking about? I thought you guys said you were going to be moving your cooktop over anyway, where the sink currently is.”

Mum: “Yeah, but there’s still no space! I’d lose countertop space if I put a five-burner there.”

Me: “…You’re talking about 30 cm of space.” (For the Americans reading, that’s less than a foot.) “And that’s space that’s right up against the wall. What would you be using that space for, anyway?”

Mum: “There’s no space!”

I go to the kitchen with the measuring tape.

Me: “You want the dishwasher here, right? And the cooktop here. Here’s where a four-burner cooktop would end, and here’s where my one would end.” *Emphasising the tiny foot gap that’s squished right next to the wall* “What would you even be doing with this space? You might as well use it up with cooktop space!”

We go back and forth for a little longer. Then, Dad walks in.

Dad: “The issue isn’t the space. The issue is that your mum wants an induction cooktop.”

Me: “…”

Dad: “Because they’re easier to clean.”

Mum goes quiet.

Me: “WOOOOOOW.”

Mum busies herself with tidying the pantry.

Me: *My voice rising a few octaves* “WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!”

At the moment of writing this, I’m more amused than I am annoyed. She’s not gonna live this one down.

CONTENT WARNING: Child Abuse/Injury (Chewed on by animal)

I was visiting my aunt’s place with my father. My cousin put her sleeping baby into one of the bedrooms before joining us at the table. Not long after, the baby started crying, so [Cousin] went into the room for a little while before returning.

Aunt: “Was there anything wrong?”

Cousin: “Nothing I could see. She didn’t need burping or to be changed, so I just rocked her back to sleep.”

My father is always ready with his opinions. [Cousin] rolled her eyes as he started.

Father: “You’re creating a rod for your own back by spoiling her. Back in my day, babies were left to cry until they learned to put themselves back to sleep.”

Cousin: “Well, I don’t care what you think. I am not going to leave my baby crying. What if there was actually something wrong?”

Father: “She’s only in the next room. What could happen?”

Cousin: “Have you seen how [Kid across the road] walks with a limp?” 

Father: “Yeah. What of it?”

Cousin: “His parents were of the same opinion as you and left him crying in his cot — until his sister found that a rat was eating his foot. Don’t you dare tell me how to raise my child.” 

Father was finally speechless for once.