Without a doubt, one of Lou’s all-time favorite phrases is “I love big dogs.” She says this when she comes in, takes one long look at the day’s appointments, and sees that there is a preponderance of big dogs coming in. By a preponderance, I mean more than one.
Apparently my career in the dog grooming world is coming to an end. I don’t know the exact date, however, as no one has informed me yet. I rely on the “Doggie Grapevine” to let me know the scoop on the poop.
As dog groomers, every once in a while we run into a special situation that makes us go “Eww!” Whether it be the poopy bums, the bleeding and oozy growths, or the owners that cannot resist calling their dogs deliciously sexy. What to do? Take pictures? Yes! Call your groomer friends?
I have been grooming dogs for 31 years now. I have often wondered just how many toenails I’ve clipped (not counting my own, of course), how many anal glands I’ve squeezed, how many Poodle feet I have shaved… The list goes on and on.
Although there are times when I just can’t, I usually take walk-ins for nail cutting. Last Wednesday was a particularly busy day, and I was letting the answering machine pick up quite a few calls as I tried to stay on schedule with all of the appointments.
At one point, the phone rang, and I let it go to the machine. The person hung up. A split second later, it rang again, and I still didn’t answer.
“Twas a Saturday with a full moon expected that evening. Need I say more? Every kennel had an occupant: an incessant, howling, banging resident. Both human and canine customers, wrapped in some mystic force’s embrace, felt compelled to issue impossible or ludicrous requests and behave as if all common sense was lost. It was only 10 a.m., but I had already come to the conclusion that it was going to be a margarita night once I survived this test of moral and mannerly fortitude.