The Pop-Up Event

Grotesque Absurdity

I was fifteen minutes early. The event began at ten a.m., on a Sunday, but they weren’t about to unlock the doors early. A handful of us stood on the sidewalk, lining up in the order of our arrival, holding our dogs’ leashes. The sun was high that morning, and its light reflected off the bright cement straight back into our faces. My upper arm, facing the sun, began to sting. Turning to look, I saw a pink stripe had formed between the end of my shirt sleeve and the start of my watchband. I had just showered before leaving the house, my hair was still wet, but I began sweating profusely down the small of my back and across the bridge of my nose.

I was waiting for the pop-up vaccine clinic, held at Petco, PetSmart, Pets-R-Us, or some place with a similar name, to open for business. I had an “appointment,” but it appeared everyone else had the same “appointment” I did. The temperature in the shade was 85 degrees, and all of us were wilting, especially the dogs. I shielded Sylvi as best I could and apologized for the lackluster circumstances. Trying to save a few dollars, I chose the Spirit Airlines of veterinary care for her booster vaccines. But having had Sylvi in the house for the last two months, I felt like I knew her pretty well, and while these conditions weren’t ideal, I knew she was better suited to the heat than some of the other dogs there, such as the German Shepard mixed puppy who didn’t appear nine weeks old yet.

Some people, with multiple dogs, didn’t bother with collars or leashes for at least one of their dogs, instead pushing them in a shopping cart to the storefront. I’m sure you can guess what happened. Several times, a terrier-mix jumped out and ran up to Silvi, sniffing her from behind. Without thinking, I used the side of my shoe to push the dog away from her, telling it, “Uh-uh.” I thought to myself, Who brings a dog to a strip mall, around a dozen other dogs, wearing nothing at all?

Once they opened the doors, everyone pushed inside, cutting down the center aisle on both sides of the displays, causing us to line up differently at the end of the store than we were outside. I didn’t mind. I had already chalked this experience up to a total clusterfuck, so I took a deep breath and found my place in the queue.

A woman stood in front of me with two shaking, bug-eyed chihuahuas in a shopping cart and a bigger furry dog on a leash. Conceivably, it was her teenage son with her who was there to help. But that didn’t stop the brown Chihuahua from jumping out and trotting through everyone’s feet. The woman would yell at the boy, and the boy would scramble to catch the dog. Then the process would repeat itself. Finally, the boy set the dog in the cart and slapped it across the back, saying, “No” in his stern, pre-pubescent voice.

A family of three stood behind me. The father held the leash of a hundred-pound chocolate Doberman. The mother held the leash of a severely overweight black lab, and their son was responsible for the terrier mix in the shopping cart, which had kept jumping out and sniffing Sylvi outdoors. At one point, the boy asked his parents, in the chitter-chatter, bored-kid kind of way, if they couldn’t get a rescue dog. The mother responded snidely, “Yeah, no thanks.” As the Doberman and Lab sniffed at Sylvi repeatedly, all up in her business because the owners couldn’t manage to keep the leashes short, I thought to myself, Oh, thank God. A dog out there is spared the heartache because you all are some dumb motherfuckers. What kind of owner lets their dogs sniff a pitbull when the handler is holding a muzzle in the other hand? I mean, how stupid are you?

Why didn’t I say anything? First, I thought my toggling sneaker in their dogs’ faces might have clued them in to a potential issue. Second, what would have been the point of engaging them? Even if I asked them nicely to keep their dogs away from Sylvi, the potential for an altercation or confrontation rose exponentially. I could almost picture them then doing it on purpose, to incite Sylvi, blaming her for any damage. Besides, you can’t fix stupid with reason or facts.

Despite all of it, Sylvi was perfect. The dogs that ran up to her? Sniffed her? She ignored them as I pushed them away with my shoe. In fact, Sylvi was so patient while waiting in line that she eventually lay down to rest. When it was finally her turn, I slipped the muzzle over her nose because I had no idea how she would handle the shots, but there was no need. The vet vaccinated her without so much as a grimace or a twitch of the skin. Have I told yet you what a good dog she is?

The coup de grace for the morning was a blue merle corgi, intact, with toenails that resembled corkscrews, presented by a woman, probably my age…get this…with a perfect French manicure. WHAT. IN. THE. ACTUAL. FUCK. I was awash in pitiful irony and grotesque absurdity. It’s experiences like these that make me think humans are doomed, when I otherwise spend my days rather optimistic. But if we can’t be smart or thoughtful about our cherished pets, how in the world will we ever treat each other with respect, kindness, and decency? I had to turn away from the Corgi, certain he spent his days in constant discomfort, if not pain.

When we finished, I walked Sylvi back to the car and turned the AC on full blast. I told her I wasn’t sure it was worth saving a few bucks when your eyes can’t unsee what they’ve unfortunately seen. Besides, the situation there was an accident waiting to happen. Sylvi might have been their coolest customer that day, but being a Pitbull, she was sure to be blamed for any infraction. One thing I did know for sure: Dogs are too good for us. They always have been.