Petco had developed a sophisticated warning system and the moment that a pile of blazered students emerged from various cars and converged on the store, a voice on the loudspeaker interrupted the music to state, fairly calmly considering the circumstances, ″There has been a Warbler sighting in the parking lot. This is NOT a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill.″ The more nervous staff had their medication in hand and the most seasoned veterans headed to the cat food and cat toy aisles to maintain calm.
Military historians say that all too often, countries apply the tactics that won (or would have won) the last war to the current war. They would have clicked their tongues pityingly at the Petco staff, none of which reconnoitered to determine that it wasn't another kitten this time. It was a puppy, or at least a ball of energy, slobber, and curly fur packaged as a puppy.
At the smell of all of the treats and toys and other delights, Blaine started tugging at the leash that Kurt had improvised from Dalton ties, and dancing on his hind legs in excitement. ″Awww, you want to go look at the toys, don't you?″ Jeff cooed. ″Lots and lots of toys in there, yes, there are!″
Once they were actually inside, Blaine first tried to tear in every direction at once, and then clambered onto the first available counter to look around, scattering the display items in every direction and looking down for a moment at the chaos on the floor as if wondering how that happened. ″C'mon, Blaine, have some priorities, a real collar and leash first,″ Kurt urged, scooping him up around the middle when Blaine started running back and forth along the counter. Blaine immediately went tummy-up in his arms and Kurt obediently rubbed his belly.
In the collar and leash aisle, Kurt pulled out his cheat sheet of the season's colors, arranged by Pantone number, and explained his strategy to Wes. ″If possible, a bow tie collar in one of these colors, if not, a bow tie in a classic color, if that's not available, a regular collar in one of the season's colors.″
″Kurt, he's only going to wear it for three days.″
At Kurt's look, a weaker man would have wilted into something resembling a lettuce leaf that was left in the sun for a day and then dropped in the sink for another. But Gavel Wielders aren't so easily abashed, so Kurt had to explain, ″Would you not bang your gavel if it was only a minor decision?″ When Wes looked shocked that even Kurt would suggest such a thing, Kurt nodded smugly, ″I rest my case.″ Fortunately, there were two bow-tie collars in the right colors, but that presented another challenge. When one of the staff came to ask if he could help, Kurt presented the question.
″Which of these collars does more for his fur tone?″
The staffer's bravery had gotten him that far but failed him at that point. ″I'd better ask the manager,″ he gasped, and fled.
Blaine had gotten restless and was whining and lunging towards the other groups of Warblers in the food and toy aisles. ″Okay, let's go, Blaine.″
″Awwww, he's adorable!″ A teenaged girl stopped at the end of the aisle and crouched down to greet a delighted Blaine, who spun around in circles in delight at being petted and exclaimed over. When he started climbing her knees and licking her face, Kurt's own face soured. ″We've already been through this, with Rachel, remember?″ He gave a light tug to Blaine's leash and they continued in the direction of the toy aisle.
Kurt had rather been hoping that Blaine wouldn't notice or be interested by the ranks of cages with adoptable cats and kittens, but when he caught sight of them, Blaine darted so rapidly towards them that Kurt spun faster than Mike Chang on caffeine. Blaine barked and play-bowed in front of the nearest cage, where the kittens first looked at one another as if to confirm that this was a puppy instead of a tornado comprised of black cotton balls, and then thrust their paws through the wires at him. Wes wondered how they could make up a game, even one where the rules seemed to be as simple as ″kittens bat at Blaine with their paws, if we bop him, a point for us, if he bops our paws with his nose first, a point for him,″ without at least a preliminary outline, but it seemed to be working for them, so he probably shouldn't judge.
The kittens withdrew when their lunch appeared and after trying to convince them that playing was more fun than food, Blaine let Kurt lead him to the toy aisle. After rushing over to the Warblers as though they'd been separated for years instead of minutes, Blaine sank back on his rear to look at all the options. He launched himself into a wire bin of chew toys, grabbing one after another and shaking his head wildly with each. He let go of one mid-shake and when it bounced off the side of the bin and dinged him on the tail, he squeaked in indignation, giving Kurt another excuse to scoop him up. David and Jeff methodically gathered the toys that he had either chewed or slobbered on so much that they couldn't really leave them for the next buyer, and Nick looked at Blaine and nodded sagely. ″I bet that's what you had in mind all along, hmmm?″ Blaine's happy yelp and wiggle of delight convinced him he was right.
At the counter, Kurt spent some time debating fonts before Thad said, firmly, ″We need to get him out NOW,″ recognizing a particular kind of wriggle. Kurt rushed him out before he committed any particular deed of non-dapperness and watched cautiously as a woman walked through the parking lot with what looked like a cross between a Great Dane and a bison, and Blaine pranced back and forth with an air of ″I could take you if I wanted to.″ Fortunately, the big dog seemed more bemused than anything by the pup's strutting, and wagged benignly as Blaine swaggered up to him. Some of Blaine's bravado disappeared momentarily when the behemoth extended a tongue that was about Blaine's own size and engulfed him in a lick, but he soon got his strut back after shaking himself vigorously.
Since the manager seemed not to have emerged yet, Kurt, returning to the store, called for a Warbler vote on which collar to pick. Wes pulled out his emergency backup gavel and they selected a flattering brick shade. Blaine seemed to agree and not even to repine the lack of stripes or polka dots, and so the Warblers left the shop, Blaine leading.
The assistant manager standing at the door managed a ″Thank you″ but couldn't quite get out the ″Come again.″