Bella

Yes, Dear…

by Anjie Coates
Photo by Anjie Coates

ella is a lovely mixed breed that I’ve groomed regularly her entire life. She was a sweet and somewhat shy pup, but blossomed into a lovely, happy dog. Bella’s Mom was telling me that she has become very sensitive about her feet, which I thought was odd, as Bella was never one to have any issues with her feet or her nail trim. However, they’d just moved to a new house where their lawn wasn’t in yet, and it was mud season in Massachusetts.
“Hey, Bella. You ready for spa day?” I ask.
Bella: “I am! We do all the good massages?”
“Yes we will!” I assure her. “And as soon as your bath is done, we’ll take a peek at those feet and see what’s going on.”
Bella: “OK! But my feet are fine.”
Nothing seemed amiss in the tub, but figured I could get a better look at her feet on the table.
“Ready for your finish?” I ask.
Bella: “Yes! More rubs?”
“Yes, more rubs,” I reply.
Bella makes a beeline for my grooming table and hops up, spins and sits with a grin.
“OK, let’s take a closer peek at those toes, shall we?” I say as I pick up each foot and examine every toe closely. But I find nothing, and Bella doesn’t seem to mind me handling her feet at all.
“Are your feet sore?” I ask.

Bella: “Nope.”
“But your Mom says your feet are sensitive,” I say.
Bella: “No, feet are fine.”
“Well, let’s do your nails then, OK?” I ask.
Bella: “OK!”
I get her nails done and she doesn’t even move except to lean against me.
“OK, what’s going on then, babe? Why are your feet so sensitive at home but fine here?” I ask as I rub paw balm into her pads thinking maybe the snow has made them uncomfortable.
Bella: “She does it wrong.”
“Who does what wrong?” I ask.
Bella: “Mom. She does it wrong.” And offers me her back foot by sticking it out.
“Right. What exactly is wrong?” I ask still confused.
Bella: “My feet. She does it wrong.” And she lifts her other back foot for me to rub the paw balm into.
I grin in realization, and ask, “So Mom is going in the wrong order?”

Bella: “Yeah! She’s drying both my front feet, one after the other!”
“So she doesn’t do it in the order we do your feet every time?” I ask as I suppress a laugh.
Bella: “Right. I tried telling her. She didn’t understand.”
“Well, I will explain it to her. She doesn’t know my order—our order—it’s not her fault,” I reassure her.
Bella: “OK, good. Because there’s only one way.”
Calculating how many hundreds of times I’d done Bella’s nails over all these years I nod, realizing that for her, there was only one way she’d done this for her entire life. And now with all the mud in the new yard, she needs her feet wiped all the time.
“How about I write down the order you prefer for your Mom so that she’ll never forget?” I ask.
Bella: “You promise?”
And I reply,