Today I had a couple of sweet moments. First, the son and daughter of a long-time customer came in, looking for a birthday gift for their mom. I did a double take, because I remember these two (and another sister) when they were so young, and now they're (gulp!) so grown up. Of course, I see them from time to time, and I always notice how mature and wonderful and well-balanced they seem... but today it was kind of a revelation. Of course, I didn't want to be one of those obnoxious people who screech out something about how MUCH you've all grown, but I felt like it! I have to remember that some of the kids who came to our shop with their moms when they were eight years old are now eighteen. Say it ain't so!
The other little moment today was a keeper. A darling three-year-old came in with her mom, dad, and brother. Apparently she loves to come to our shop, and has a thing for our egg-shaped soaps. Cute. This time, after examining different items, she latched onto the heart-shaped soaps and was trying to talk her mom into buying one. There was some negotiation (always interesting with a three-year-old), in which mom deferred the purchase until the next birthday. So the little girl turns to me (holding the soap like a precious fabergé egg), looks me right in the eye and asks "Wiwl you keep one of deese foh my next burfday?" And I just melted. I would have given her the bowl of them, but didn't want to usurp mom's decision. It's like when one of my nieces would say something cute to my dad when they were little and he'd be all: here, take my checkbook, I love you so much.
So we're going to have this big celebration at the shop on June 21 and we've been brainstorming on various drawings and prizes to offer. We sometimes have a door prize drawing just for kids, which we're definitely going to do this time. The minute we came up with it, we both said "Phoebe!" It's kind of a code with us. It's something to do with sweet, fleeting moments. It's our little existential thing. Nevermind.
Anyway, one time we had a drawing for kids, and we mixed up all the entries and picked three winners. One of them was Phoebe, who wrote her name so well (in that giant, careful, but somewhat backwards way kids do when they're first learning), but only gave us a couple of digits of her phone number. First of all, isn't that name so wonderful, so classic? We felt so bad for Phoebe. Poor Phoeeeebe! She won and we didn't know who she was, so we couldn't contact her and tell her about her prize (which I think was this cool bubble maker thing). Phoebe is probably 13 now and wouldn't be caught dead shopping with her mom.
And then there's Mollie, our fabulous and one-and-only incredible shop dog. We think she's about 11: she was rescued, starving and raw with flea bites, by former co-workers of Robert's. They had given up on trying to find her family, when they thought we might want to give her a home. I remember him calling me from work, saying, "Uh, I have this cute little black and white dog sitting on my feet right now and I think she wants to come home with me. She won't leave my side. How would you like to have another dog? Nevermind, there's no voting on this one."
And so began our love affair with the sweetest dog ever. The first day we had her I took her to the vet for a checkup, and on the way home, she sat in the seat next to me and put her paw on my shoulder and looked at me with those intelligent brown eyes. Oh boy. I was a goner. The next day I took her to the shop with me. It seemed the only thing to do. There was never any traffic on the road back then (this was maybe our fourth month in business, and we were trying to figure out how to get more people to find us -- you could actually hear the crickets chirping and tumbleweeds rolling), so I took a chance and took Mollie off her lead. Dang if she didn't just follow me around, go out and sleep under the tree now and then and generally stick close by. She never did run off or get in trouble, and we never really had to train her to stay.
The other day, she gave two young boys a tour of the property. Really. She trotted along just in front of them, looking back every once in a while, and took them to the canal, then around the back and here and there in the garden, ending up in front. Maybe she was showing them where she likes to cool off (on a rock in the water), and where to find the best pinecones.
Anyway, she's been a fixture at Pomegranate all these years, and is still healthy and catching pinecones, albeit rather slowly. She doesn't do her elegant back flips anymore, and she gets tired fast. But she still loves babies! She entertains husbands and kids! She's our V.P. of PR!
There is another dog in our family. Her name is Weasel (disclaimer: I had nothing to do with that name). She's a bit older than Mollie, and has only been to Pomegranate once. She's a lab/border collie mix (Mollie is springer/border collie), and her herding instinct is strong. We brought both dogs along one Sunday afternoon when we were mowing the lawn and doing some repairs at the shop. Weasel was very upset at being stuck in the truck while Mollie cavorted on the lawn,
so we thought we'd let her out for bit. Yeah right. At that moment, three little boys came walking down the street from the Fun Center, and Weasie thought they needed herding, including a little heel nipping. There was no blood involved in this episode, but she did scare the boys. There was an angry parent visit later (with many apologies), and to my great chagrin, a police visit the next day. "There's been a report that there is a dangerous dog at this location," said the policewoman, as Mollie licked her hand and sat on her feet. Yep, not that dog. The "mean one" isn't allowed at the shop anymore, no matter how much she begs. But we love her madly anyway. There's a picture of Mollie and Weasel at home, enjoying a game of "I Only Want What You Have."Next time: some of the top worst retailing moments. Or maybe more of the good times...
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