The Real Skinny: "The lady used the shampoo on her own hair"

The real skinny (according to Boy): Evie obviously recalled a number of details that I missed. I think Evie really did remember what the lady looked like, and what she was wearing. Evie simply remembers things like that. We both recalled that the lady used the shampoo on her own hair. And, I do remember that her hair looked soft and shiny. I think that the reason we went shopping at the pet store did have to do with Mister having fleas. Otherwise, we would have used baby shampoo, or something cheap like that.

Wonder Fluff Dog Shampoo, According to Girl

Wonder Fluff dog shampoo according to Girl: He did not get bathed on a regular schedule. It was like this: "Mister, you’re beginning to smell like a dog—time for a bath. So, putting my shorts and tee shirt on, I would coax him into the bathroom with a treat, then close the door behind us, and start the water.

Mister was a very hyper dog. His metabolism was "high energy" most of the time. The bathtub was one of those one piece shower and tubs made of fiberglass. It was small; however it would do the trick. As the bath ran, Mister would start prancing. His front feet would take turns in fast stepping, looking a little like an Irish step dancer. Mister would stiffen his whole body, and the rhythm and preciseness of his front paw tapping would quicken. It was obvious his excitement was mounting.

Once the tub was about three quarters full, we would gently drop his front paws into the warm water, allowing him to become acclimated. The water could not be too warm, or he would object.

Then we would drop his back paws in. Of course, he would try to climb out, and we would get totally drenched. We would talk to him and tell him (in our most sorry tone), "it’s okay, Mister."

He would look at us with those beautiful brown eyes, asking "why?"

I took some shampoo, a washcloth, and a sauce pan and began to scrub. He became very small and thin as the water penetrated through to his skin, causing his coat to flatten against his frame. He hated this, and we were not wild about bath night either. It took lots of running water poured from the pan to rinse out the shampoo.

Once Mister was clean, and all the soap bubbles were gone, we would wrap him in a couple of bath towels, spread more towels on the bathroom floor, and pull him out of the tub.

Why do dogs have to shake it out? We were covered with the wet dog smell and it did not matter how much shampoo we used, all three of us still smelled like dog.

As soon as we would open the bathroom door, Mister would begin his "tearing around" ritual, running full speed throughout our little apartment, rubbing his face and fur on the floor, couch and rugs, he would gradually dry off. Soon he started to smell better.

It would be our turn at this point; we would clean the tub, jump in the shower and clean off the puppy smell.
Whenever we bathed Mister, we knew we would have to do the laundry on the next day (we had a very limited number of bath towels).

Because Mister was our very first pet, and because we wanted to be good dog people, we often visited the pet stores.

Glendale had one, and it was located very close to where we lived. It was a tiny shop filled with the most splendid assortment of dog and cat paraphernalia. There we could find almost anything we might need for our baby. It had a large assortment of pet toys, flea collars, vitamins, shampoos, and just about everything else. We were not sure where to begin, when the most interesting character peeked through the heavy green drapery that led to a back room. "Can I help you?" she asked, in a particularly jolly tone.

She was a plump little lady. She was wearing a printed house dress with slippers and a brown bibbed apron that had embroidered in bright yellow across the bodice, "Jones’ Pet Shop." Her round red face had eyes that reminded me of a blue-eyed Santa Claus. Her smile was broad and friendly. But her most outstanding feature was the soft white hair that framed her face. She asked us what kind of a pet we had, so Mike and I both eagerly told her all about our Norwegian Elkhound. She asked what his name was, and when we told her Mister, she thought we said Mystery, due to the non-rhotic New York accent. We explained that we were from Michigan and we then spelled out Mister’s name. She then understood and laughed.

She was anxious to have us as a new customer. I proceeded to tell her about bath time at the apartment. I explained that the shampoo I was using seemed to hurt Mister’s eyes, and we were looking for a solution.

Mrs. Jones had the answer. She proudly explained that it was necessary to use

dog shampoo when bathing a dog, and that the best dog shampoo was a product called Wonder Fluff. She went over to the end cap where the bottle was proudly displayed. The best feature of this shampoo was it was made specifically for dogs. We then heard the whole spiel about it: Wonder Fluff would lather up even in the hardest water. It did not hurt a dog’s eyes, as long as you were careful. It rinsed clean. It smelled wonderful. It was concentrated, so a little lasted a long time. And, it was priced right.

The best part of the sale that day was when Mrs. Jones looked me in the eye and said, "did you notice my soft beautiful hair? I use Wonder Fluff myself."

Chapter 42 - Wonder Fluff Dog Shampoo

According to Boy: Wonder Fluff dog shampoo came in two varieties—"Original," and "Tick and Flea." I believe it is manufactured by a company called "Ethical Products."

In checking it out on the web, I found this "review" of the product: "I have used Wonder Fluff Flea and Tick Shampoo for years. I was also a dog breeder seven years. Wonder Fluff is always my shampoo of choice. It not only takes care of any fleas, it’s gentle to my dogs’ skin and the smell is fantastic! …all around ‘wonderfluffiness’" (Posted by: Kaye McComas from Cambridge, MD, on 8/21/2006).

Probably about two months after Mister moved in with us, his long Norwegian Elkhound ‘fur’ started smelling. And, he was beginning to scratch at fleas. Evie and I wanted to do something about it, but were not quite sure what to do. We had walked past the coolest pet store numerous times. So, we decided to stop in and buy a flea collar.

"You don’t want to put a flea collar on your dog!" the lady at the pet store confidently told us. "They’re not good for your dog. What you need is a good dog shampoo," she continued, handing me a bottle of Wonder Fluff Flea and Tick Shampoo. That will take care of the fleas, plus it smells great. I’ve used it for years."

She looked like a woman who knew what she was talking about. "Sounds good to me," I said, as I started to read the label. "What kind of dog do you have?"

"I used to have a German Shepherd, but he passed on over a year ago now," she said.

"Oh, I’m sorry to hear that," I responded in sympathy. "How often do think we should shampoo our dog?"

"No dog likes to get a bath. But you should shampoo him every couple weeks, at least," she informed me. "Wonder Fluff does not burn the eyes, and it doesn’t dry out their coats, either. Like I said, I use it on my hair twice a week. I just love it."

I had misunderstood her. When she indicated that she used Wonder Fluff, I assumed she used the shampoo on her dog. But what she was saying was that she used it on her own hair. I checked out her gray hair, and it did look pretty good. So I bought two bottles of Wonder Fluff. However, I never used it on my hair.

The Real Skinny: "It seems strange that a landlord would find a dog for a tenant"

The real skinny (according to Boy): I really can’t believe that we agreed on almost everything having to do with the new member of the family. I did not actually remember who had suggested we adopt Mister. But, apparently it was our landlord. It seems strange that a landlord would find a dog for a tenant. Charlie and his family were truly wonderful people. I do not think that I have ever met a family cooler than were they.

I also was not sure about Evie having to wake me up. It was, however logical. The only day that we would have time to drive out into the country would be a Saturday morning. So that part of the story just figured. Again, I do not remember the details.
I do remember just how excited Evie was about this whole thing. I think that is obvious in both accounts.

The Day Mister Came to Live With Us, According to Girl

The day Mister came to live with us according to Girl: Oh my gosh, my heart was beating so fast I could hardly contain myself. Yes, this was the day I was so anxiously awaiting. We had made all of the arrangements with the landlord, the owner and the transportation details, and we had a map. We would be on our way in the next few hours to get him, and I was excited. How could Mike sleep in on a day like this, he would be my very first, no-one-could-take-him away-from-me dog, and he was joining our family as our very special pet. He would greet me with tail wagging and lots of sloppy dog licks and kisses. He would be so very happy to share our lives, I just knew it. Mike and I would sort of now be a real family with a real, honest to goodness living and breathing puppy.

I think I am actually a very big dog person. I have, however, had many disappointments along the way (at least in that area).

When I was eleven, my family was still living in a tiny apartment on McReynolds Street. I already had three siblings—Tom (9), Tim (7), and the new baby, Liz. I was so thankful when Liz was born, I had been praying for a sister for a very long time. With the appearance of Liz, I was optimistic that things were going to change—all I now needed was a dog.

That’s when "Blackie," the stray, wandered into our yard. I came home from school one afternoon, and there he was. He was a very scraggly dog, but very loveable. He had black wavy hair (filled with burrs), and was very skinny. Nancy, my best friend in the world, helped me scour the alley behind our home for important stuff to welcome my new dog. We found a lot of treasures there—old dog dishes from other people’s garbage, old refrigerator or stove boxes (we used them to make Blackie a shelter which was fine until it rained), stinky blankets, and lots of things for him to chew on.

I could not wait to get home from school each night. I would brush Blackie, pet him, get him his water and leftovers from dinner. He devoured the best of those pork chop bones, green beans and slightly stale mashed potatoes. Blackie was putting on weight and was becoming a very happy dog. Yes, Blackie stuck around.

As the weeks progressed, Mom and Dad found our little home bursting at the seams, and they made an offer on a huge two-story home across town. Before I knew what was happening, Dad loaded us, our clothes, and all our basic furnishings into our "wood on the side" station wagon, and away we moved to the other side of town—without Blackie.

Dad was not ready to be the official owner of another mouth to feed. I cried, and said goodbye to my Blackie. Nancy promised to raise him right.

"Mike, get up, let’s go get the dog." It was so very important to me. "No, let’s not stop to get breakfast. No coffee for me, I am packed and ready to hit the road. We can’t keep our new dog waiting."

My second attempt at adopting a dog was in the spring of my twelfth year, while I was visiting my cousins. They were four rowdy boys with a collie. This collie had puppies six weeks earlier, and I was getting a fluffy little cute butterball of a puppy—Mom and Dad had already said it was okay.

I found a box and a blanket. I could not put the little girl pup down, she was so soft and cuddly. She spent that Sunday afternoon in my lap, mostly sleeping and sipping a bit of milk from a doll bottle. We were sitting together in the sunlight by the west windows in the dining room, when on the buffet, the mean, ugly, black phone rang. It was the ring of death. My aunt was on the phone, demanding the return of my puppy. She said my puppy had earlier been promised to one of her friends who lived on a farm. My heart was broken.

From that time on, until Mike and I married, I had accepted my "dogless" fate. But now, things were going to be different.

Finally, Mike and I were ready to hit the road. It was going to be a long drive, all the way out on Long Island. Long Island is about thirty-five miles long and six miles wide. My map took us to the east end of the island. Our Glendale apartment was located on the west end of Long Island. Lucky for us, we still had our fast Mustang.

We were told "Mister" was a medium-sized dog, and that he had attended dog school. "He must be a very well-behaved dog," I recall thinking. The owners had to find a home for him quickly. They just had a new baby. While Mister was a great dog, they felt they had to focus on the newborn. It was so good of Charlie, our landlord, to fill us in on the details.

We drove up to the big house and property, and around to a huge patio in the back. A very sweet couple came out to greet us. All four of us shared the biggest smiles.

Then, I saw him, coming around a corner. He was beautiful. The moment our brown eyes met, I knew it was true love. He was exactly what I wanted—well, maybe a bit bigger that I had originally expected, but he was very happy to meet us.

His coat (fur) was black, gray and white, he had a tail that curled up over his back. It was wagging like crazy. He stood up on his tippy puppy toes to greet us, sort of jumping up and down, as if telling us he

was ready to go.

His "parents" told us all the details we needed to know about how to take care of their beloved baby. They explained that he had received all of his shots, and that he graduated with honors from his obedience school.

Little did I realize at the time that obedience school only meant he knew how to sit in a corner and drool for food, rather than begging out loud for pizza leftovers.

I was ready to be a pet owner, I learned how to give a Mister a bath, walk, and feed him. One of things his original parents told us was that Mister was on a special diet—he ate only a very expensive dog food. The product they suggested was very expensive, and could be purchased in only a few stores. Nevertheless, that’s what we bought for him.

That was great, as far as I was concerned. Soon the three of us climbed into that little Mustang and headed back toward the city. And he (my sweet Mister dog) was really coming back with us. I was ready.

Yes, it was truly the perfect day. The sun was shining, the grass was green and we had our first dog. Mister would be a part of our New York life for years to come.

Chapter 41 - The Day Mister Came to Live With Us

According to Boy: It was a cool October morning. A Saturday morning. The sort of morning made for sleeping in. And that is exactly what my body was doing. Catatonic, in fact. The cause of my condition could be debated. Was it the result of the wine the night before, or the cool October air? Whatever the reason, it seemed doubtful that my mind was going to reach any agreement with my body to engage itself in some sort of conscious movement.

"Mike, wake up," Evie pleaded. I could hear her only as I incorporated her voice into my dream. I have no idea what I was dreaming, but she had suddenly become part of it.

"We’ve got to pick up our dog."

That three-letter word did not compute. "Dog?" I queried struggling to wake up. "Dog?"

I opened my eyes to the light, but only for a moment. The sun’s light illuminating our almost white curtains was more than I could bear. The pain was centered mostly behind my right eye. That’s where it always hurt the morning after.

"Oh," I moaned. "I’ve got a killer headache."

The word "dog" was starting to make sense. Then I remembered. We had agreed to provide a home to a dog. Charlie, our most-wonderful landlord, had asked us to adopt his friend’s dog. I wasn’t terribly excited about the prospect of being a dad to a dog, but Charlie had been so very helpful to us. When we moved into our Glendale apartment, which was located over where Charlie and his family lived, we did not even have a bed. He called around and found us a really nice one. He and his family were just terrific. He had explained to us that his friend was moving into an apartment, and that his new landlord would not allow pets. How could I refuse?

Besides that, Evie was ecstatic about having a dog. "Must have been her maternal instincts kicking in," I concluded.

Lying there, still half asleep, and severely hung over, I muttered, "What the heck is a Norwegian Elkhound, anyway?" Being that this was the late 60s (BG—before Google), we really had no good way to investigate.

"I really don’t know much about them, but Charlie said that they’re really cool," Evie said in her most excited and convincing tone. "Charlie said that the dog’s name was ‘Mista’. That’s Brooklynese for ‘Mister.’"

"So, I suppose that means that it’s a male. But that does not tell me much about what the dog looks like, or the temperament of the breed. Is it a large dog?"

"No, Charlie said he really would not like us to get a large dog, but that Mista would be okay," Evie explained.

"Wait a minute. Had you asked him if we could have a dog, or did he ask you if we would be willing to take this dog? You know, which came first, the chicken or the egg?"

"Well, it’s kind of complicated," Evie replied.

"What do you mean?" I asked, squinting one painfully bloodshot eye open in her direction.

"It was kinda mutual," she responded. "I asked him if he would ever entertain the notion of a renter having a pet, like a cat. And he said he would check with his wife and see what she thought. He really thought that a cat would not be acceptable to his wife, because they had once had a cat themselves, and she got rid of it after it stunk up their house. But she might consider a dog—a small dog."

"Okay, that explains a lot," I said, now fully awake. I had found it difficult to understand why any landlord would ask his tenant to please accept and house a pet, even a ‘small’ dog, in a newly-refurbished apartment directly over his own residence.

Charlie was branch manager of a Brooklyn bank. And the friend whose dog needed a home was his assistant manager. Charlie was a genuinely nice person. So was his family. Charlie had even arranged for Evie to take a job as a teller at his bank. That was a huge help. Charlie was the type of person who truly tried to take care of people, to make all those around him a little more comfortable. Of course, it was helpful to his cause to have his tenants employed. But he liked us, and wanted to make sure Evie had a good, clean and safe job. He was like that. So, when his assistant asked him if he could help him find a good home for "Mista" (spelled "Mister"), Charlie immediately took personal responsibility for giving the task his best effort, even if it meant allowing (encouraging in fact) his tenant to take the animal. I doubt that Charlie had any better idea what a Norwegian Elkhound looked like than did we.

"We promised to be there by ten, and I have no idea how long it will take to get there," Evie said in her most coaxing and pleading voice. "It’s nine now. We should leave in the next fifteen, I think."

"Do we have a map?" I asked.

"No, but Charlie gave me directions. He said we should be able get there in about a half an hour, with Saturday morning traffic. So, if we allow ourselves forty minutes, we can make a few wrong turns, and still be okay," Evie grinned.

"I would still like to know what a Norwegian Elkhound looks like," I said, putting one and then the other foot on the floor, and sitting up— finally. Man, what a headache.

"Charlie told me Mista was a small dog, and that he even went to obedience school," Evie said, trying to encourage me.

I pictured Mista as being a mixture of Collie and Poodle. What did I know? I had never heard of Norwegian Elkhounds. Maybe it was not even a real breed of dog. Maybe Charlie’s friend had just made up the appellation to help get rid of his unwanted dog. What were we getting ourselves into?

The Real Skinny: "I pretty much had the color down"

The real skinny (according to Girl): I pretty much had the color down. Mike told the nitty gritty of the bed, fabric and the ultimate demise of the spread. My story could be accurately embedded in his six-paragraph account.