The well-groomed city dog

When I lived in the country, I actually had a pet groomer who came out to my house. I started having her groom my longhaired senior kitty, Samson, who had a coat very prone to matting. He had kidney disease and it was very stressful on him to go to the groomer, so when my vet suggested I give the local mobile groomer a try, I was thrilled. I was even more thrilled when she turned out to be great with animals and a brilliant groomer. Eventually she started grooming all my dogs and cats. I was hooked.



When I moved to San Francisco, I knew it was going to be tough to replace her. I asked all my friends for personal recommendations, and tried one who returned my Borzoi to me still wet, still loaded with loose hair, and still with tangles behind her ears. They seemed to be lovely with the dogs, and that’s certainly the most important thing, but call me crazy: When I get my dog groomed, I like him or her to be, well… groomed.



I kept looking. Finally, I noticed a flyer for a groomer in my vet’s office. It had a photo of a Borzoi on it. I took this as a sign from the dog gods. “Excuse me,” I asked the vet’s assistant, “Do you have any personal experience with this groomer, or did they just leave a flyer here?”



The staff enthusiastically recommended her, saying that several of their clients had taken their dogs to her, and been very satisfied. So I scheduled an appointment for my deerhound, Rebel. Somewhat nervously, since 120 pound Scottish deerhounds aren’t the usual grooming client. Rebel also found even going outside into my yard and getting in his old groomer’s van traumatic, so I admit I was a little concerned about how he was going to handle the whole experience.



Joy Bonehill at the Barking Lot took Rebel’s challenges in stride. He was too big for her grooming table, and too big for her crates, so she set up a portable pen in a free corner of the shop, and cheerfully blew him dry while sitting in there with him. When I came to pick him up, he was clean and dry, with all his dead hair removed, his ears clean, and his nails trimmed. Best of all, his tail was wagging.



Joy laughingly confessed to having shot a photo of her Pomeranian in the pen with Rebel. “But I don’t think he even knew the Pom was there,” she confided in me. “He never even looked at him.” I politely didn’t tell her that Rebel doesn’t actually have the ability to see microscopic life forms.



I took Kyrie to Joy a few weeks later, and this time got my girl back the way I like her: Her feathering was brushed out, her dead coat was gone, and she was, as all urban Borzois should be, all shiny and glamorous. And dry.



And of course, happy. Because if I have to choose between having a happy dog and a well-groomed dog, of course, I’ll take the happy dog. But in this best of all possible urban dog mom worlds, I’ll take both.

Comments

[Gina Spadafori]

I love my groomer. Judy's my across-the-street neighbor! She takes them when she thinks they look like they need a clean-up. She has been showing Afghans for 30-odd years, so she knows how to make a dog look great.



Judy also grooms the two youngsters before their shows.