I barely made it on time, though the pouring rain, to pick Chloe up from the groomer's before they shut down for the night. I splashed through the parking lot and nearly skidded to the back of Petsmart into the groomers area where another woman was waiting on her dog. We were killing time, making small talk, thankful we made it to pick up our beloved animals when an older lady and her husband sauntered in. He meandered behind myself and the other woman, while his wife dutifully pushed her way to the front. {ummm yeah. It's called a line.}
The groomers exited with Chloe, who excited beyond belief nearly threw herself from the table they had perched her on, to place the token hanky signifying her cleanliness. She was thrilled I was there to rescue her. "Hey Chloe!" I exlaimed in my best doggy lover voice, while she jumped excitedly on the other side of the half door separating the dogs from their owners. I was glad to see her too. I may gripe about her on a daily basis, but she's my first baby.
"Ummm," I heard the older woman whisper in my ear as I passed her to grab the leash from the groomer's hand. "Chloe needs to lose some weight."
Seriously? I thought, but I kept my thoughts to myself, with a dutiful, "I know."
{Pause: I felt as though I had been scolded. As if this woman, who knew nothing about my dog, my treatment of my dog, or my life, was openly passing doggy judgement on myself and therefore my entire household. Sure Chloe's a little pudgy. But she's not hovering on the brink of doggy fat induced death, and I think if she were dangerously mistreated, the vet would have informed us of such. And furthermore, if my dog has a bit of a happier life because she enjoys a few of the family's leftovers, then that, my dear, is our prerogative.}
"Yes." the woman agreed. "But its bad for her."
"Your mom." I responded. And promptly left.
It's one thing to nosily make a point to a perfect stranger you have been standing beside for ten seconds. It is quite another to pursue your point. This is when I did what I do best, bit my tongue to avoid the mom comment, and avoided eye contact. It certainly wasn't worth the effort as I gratefully took my receipt from the cashier and headed toward the front. Away from my newest critic.
"Dear rude lady," I suddenly wanted to yell, as I paced heatedly to the front, rehearsing the comeback I should have made. "You look like you and your husband, SGT. Pudgy there, are about one Gutherie's Chicken finger away from cistolic-plaque-induced-artery-clogging-failure. {Thanks for the vocab, Grey's Anatomy} So don't judge me OR my dog. And furthermore, your purse with your dogs painted on it would be cool, if you lived on a navajo indian reservation. You suck. At life." Yes, I took her open criticisms personally.
Yeah. That's what I should have said. I simply fail to understand why people are obsessed with giving their opinions on all things parenting related, including children AND pets.
Back off my baby names and my fat dog!