The home renovation was beginning to lose its luster. A revolving door of friends who smelled of sawdust and grease had been entertaining at first, but their visits came at a cost. Screeching drills and pounding hammers sent Luke’s ears peeling back as he retreated to the front door.

Get me out of this funny farm.

My dog wasn’t far off the mark.

I surveyed the damage. Thick protective paper lined the floors, much like tissue rolled over a doctor’s examination table. Coffee mugs, plastic silverware, and takeout containers sat recklessly atop a feeble utility table.

We’re on the Island of Misfits, the characters in my mind declared.

Luke needed a spa day, a wellness retreat to help him forget about his broken home. First stop: the local groomer.

“Luke, you’re going to look so handsome!”

We drove off with the glee of independence and the promise of a fresh perspective. Luke gazed out the window. The grass truly was greener outdoors. He lifted his head as though opportunity itself rested on his nose.

Since we hadn’t booked an appointment, he was eligible for a nail trim and little else. Still, it was something, I told myself. I pulled into a prime parking spot and opened his travel crate.

Thank you for taking me along, Mom!

Luke leaped onto the pavement, but his curiosity ran suddenly stale. This wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind. He buried his nose in a potent collection of scents best categorized as ALL OTHER DOGS.

I imagined generations of canine descendants gathering to share Luke’s primal wisdom.

We’re not stupid. A ground scented with this many dogs means one thing: YOU’RE SENDING US TO AN ORPHANAGE!

“Come on, Luke. You get to see Rebecca today!”

I tugged at his leash as his paws skidded across the threshold. At the sound of his favorite groomer’s name, his heart light switched on. His ears lifted, squaring off an already box-shaped head. Then he tap-danced, struggling to contain a blend of enthusiasm and embarrassment.

It’s not you, Rebecca. Or your glamorous salon. It’s just that, well…

Once, a groomer had shaved the hair inside Luke’s ears so close to the cartilage that his inner ears became inflamed and eventually infected. I knew I wasn’t supposed to enable his anxiety. Luke was four now. The past was over. The incident had been isolated, and we had long since parted ways with that salon.

He needed to move forward.

“Hello, handsome boy.”

Rebecca cupped his face until it crinkled like a Shar-Pei’s and kissed his nose. Luke softened and trotted beside her. Together, we managed to hoist him onto the grooming bench.

He stood there, wobbly and frozen, shaking from nose to tail. His entire body became one unified vibration. The scene was absurd, a full-blown production over a simple nail trim.

Rebecca didn’t skip a beat. She clipped with grace, soothed him with gentle pats on the head, and finished with a smile.

“You’re all set, Mr. Luke Valentino.”

Shaky shook off his anxiety with a vigorous wet-dog maneuver, wiggled a little more, and made a beeline for the door. On a mission to escape the orphanage where Other Dogs go, he yanked me forward while I struggled to activate the hatchback.

The door had barely reached its full height when Superman made his entrance. He launched himself into his travel crate and spun in ridiculous circles, as if escaping a burning building.

Our next stop, I suspected, would be less traumatic.

We were off to the coffee shop, where a slice of muffin and a gathering of Good Dog People awaited Luke like a beacon of hope. Perhaps this was the restorative experience his troubled soul needed.

“Want to go grab a muffin, Luke?”

He lifted his head higher and gazed out the window, where the grass continued to grow greener.

For the first time that day, I saw his body relax. The renovation could wait. The floors would eventually reappear, the cabinets would find their place, and the Island of Misfits would someday become a kitchen again.

For now, Luke had survived his spa day. His ears were intact, his nails were shorter, and his faith in the world had been restored by the prospect of baked goods.

As for me, I was reminded that sometimes a change of scenery is all it takes to put things back in perspective.

Even if you’re a dog.

Especially if you’re a dog.

And if there happened to be a few crumbs left in the hatchback, well, that would be between Luke and his conscience. W

Write to Amy at [email protected]

Visit Luke on IG@livingwithlukevalentino