Emmy Platt's Dog Wash Business

I forgot to mention, when we got back to Columbia after the ill-fated beach trip, it was about 300 degrees Fahrenheit and the sun was searing a hole through the endlessly blue sky. So we spread out all the soaking wet chairs and sleeping bags and deflated inflatable beds and blankets and towels across the driveway and on the new deck to dry.

Then we went inside the climate-controlled house, showered off the last remnants of sand and sunscreen, and sat around the dining room table playing Hearts. It didn’t seem like much time had passed before one of us (okay, it was me) looked up and out the window. “Holy S#@&!” I exclaimed. “Where’d that come from?”

We all jumped up and ran to the front door. It was raining elephants. Just to add insult to injury.

It’s been a week since then and it hasn’t rained once. Finally, all the camping gear dried out (for the second time) and is now stowed way, way up in the attic.

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Meanwhile, Paul and I have been taking long walks in the evenings when it cools off. There are an infinite number of routes to walk through the maze of twisting streets in his neighborhood, and we try to take a different route each time. We notice the blooming crepe myrtle and longleaf pines; we admire the lilies and trumpet vines of neighbors with great landscaping.

One of our favorite things is a little sign attached to a wooden post on the corner of a yard three doors down from Paul’s. It was done on a computer and has suffered from inclement weather. It has a few clipart pictures of Dalmatians and terriers on it. It says boldly across the top: “EMMY PLATT’S DOG WASH BUSINESS.”

One of the first things Emmy Platt’s sign reveals about herself is that she is not allowed to wash aggressive dogs. She can only wash one dog at a time. “If you have any special supplies, please bring them,” the sign announces. “Otherwise, I have my own.” She charges $3.50 for small dogs, $4.00 for medium dogs and $4.50 for large dogs.

We were so charmed by Emmy Platt’s sign (and so disinclined to wash Sophie the Very Sandy Standard Poodle ourselves after the beach trip), that Paul called to make an appointment. Emmy’s dad answered the phone. Let me insert here: somebody needs to let Emmy Platt know that she should fire her dad. He was unenthusiastic to the point of being discouraging. “This isn’t a real business,“ Mr. Platt told Paul. “We use dish soap and we don’t have a blow dryer.”

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Nevertheless, we succeeded in scheduling an appointment for today. As it turned out, Paul had to be somewhere else this morning, so I walked Sophie over to Emmy Platt’s. Sophie is the mellowest dog you've ever seen, the perfect experiment for a novice dog-washer -- and one can only assume from Emmy’s father’s opposition that his daughter is an absolute beginner.

Mr. Platt answered the door, frowning. He said, “Let me get the little entrepreneur.” Emmy, who’s about 8 years old, came shyly into the room. I’m not sure she’d ever even patted a dog before, let alone,washed one, but I let the dad know that our expectations were low - that in fact, we were just so charmed by the sign that we had to give “the little entrepreneur” some business. As Emmy bustled about looking for detergent and dog treats, I whispered to her dad: “Just have her hose the dog off and I’ll pick her up in 15 minutes.” This seemed to give him some courage.

Twenty minutes later I walked back over, and there sat a damp and smiling Emmy on her front porch, holding Sophie by her leash. They both smelled like Palmolive. Sophie gave a great big shake and sprayed us both. I handed Emmy what may be her only income for the summer and said happily, “Keep the change.”