Welcome to my world (part 3)
or the intimate confessions of an ex-dog groom(er).

The Saga Continues:

As you can see, my time in the shop was becoming more and more productive in a most positive mode. So I figured as long as I was on this kind of roll, let's keep on having fun. Hmm, what new ideas would be next? It didn't take too long to figure this one out. Actually it wound up being a two part process. Prepping the dogs for the bath, and blow drying after the bath were going to be the next order of business.

I know! What kind of prepping does the short coated dog really need, compared to the coated dog is the natural question. Well the response is just as natural, "Not Much". That was easy. However in the coated dog, prepping is all too important, and too frequently done in quite an ineffective manner. When I first started in show dogs I had the absolute privilege of being around, studying , watching, and learning from some of the greatest handlers and conditioners of dogs there (in my opinion) have ever been. There was Bob and Jane, Wendell, Richard, Annie, Peter, Joan, Peggy, and from the west coast Frank. These were some of the true icons of the professional handlers, of all time. I do realize that I have left some of the great handlers of the coated breeds out, but I really want to get to the subject at hand. The two best I have ever seen at grooming and conditioning the coated show dog were Patti and Pam. They could and did work magic with scissors, combs and brushes. Thanks to my having the time to just simply watch them, and the opportunity to talk with them, I had one of the finest educations I ever could have had. Thank you Patti, thank you Pam. Without the two of you I could have become a taxi driver.

Now back to the fun. The grooming table was my friend. What I mean by that is when a person tries to brush their dog while it's on the floor, the dog usually is acting up. You know, a squirm here, a wiggle there, and sometimes a battle to the finish. I figured out that, quite simply put, the floor is the dogs "turf". That's where they are the king (queen) of their domain. But, put them on a table, well, that's my turf. They are no longer so sure of themselves, and handled right, they can be putty in your hands. One dog definitely comes to mind when I would talk about the table. He was a well put together Keeshond named Starbuck, with a really terrific head piece. And was he ever full of himself. He actually gave new definition to the word, stubborn. It would take both my boss and the bather, to work on him. Once he was on the table they would muzzle him, put a noose around his head, and one around his hind quarters and now they were ready to brush him. I just watched in wonder. The bath was not much different, and I continued to watch. In the crate, well I think I should have said, when they (it took both to get him in a crate) got him in the crate he would not stop barking, and out of the crate he would go for any other dog. Finally, one day my boss said,"This dog is not coming back again! I've had it with him!". My golden opportunity had arrived. Since Starbuck came in once a week, every week, I asked my boss if I could work with him for one month, and if I couldn't work with him then kick him out. After looking at me quite strangely she gave in with one provision, and that was "I had to bath him too". Fine by me, was my silent response.

 

The next week when he came in I was the only one to touch him. I led him to the crate and gently led him in. He went in with a minimal amount of coaxing. The only thing I did differently was to leave the crate door slightly ajar. He must have felt a little more comfortable, because the constant barking stopped. Oh he barked, but there were pauses of quiet between the barks. When it was time to get him on the table, I walked him to the side of the table, reached down and lifted his front legs up so they rested on the edge of the table, and lifted him from behind, and he was up. What I did next threw my boss into a tizzy. I took the arms Off the table top. Now they're both watching Me. I started to pet him but would not speak to him. This went on for about a minute, and then I cradled him in my arms and gently eased him onto his side. He and the other four eyes that were watching me, had no idea as to what was going on. I leaned on him very lightly, and as he would raise his head to see what was happening, I would place the back side of an open hand (the one closest to his head) on his cheek and press down while saying "Put it down" in a gentle monotone (not a whine, but not threatening either). When a dog is in a strange and/or uncomfortable position like this, the tendency is for them to raise their hind leg into the air and hold it there. As they become more relaxed they simply allow the leg to slowly fall. When they do that, they realize, at least I think they do, they're not going to get killed. Now I think that is a good sign. Back to Starbuck. After he lowered his leg, and while I still had a light pressure on his cheek, I asked for the slicker brush. Now I started to brush him, one handed starting from mid brisket and working towards the hind quarter. It was fun to watch. I would place the brush on him and the hind leg would go up. I would wait, and the leg went down. This was a game, and after awhile he would leave the leg down or only raise it slightly. This after awhile, was in reality about 30 minutes. Now I was able to take my hand away for a short time, and when he raised his head I gently, with the back of my hand (still the one closest to his head) put his head back on the table saying "Put it down" (softly). Since he was going to be in the shop for the entire day there was no reason to rush him. We spent a really pleasant day with each other. Needless to say Starbuck was not given his walking papers. By the fourth week he actually wanted to go into the crate, and he was quiet! My boss really disliked this dog for doing a complete 180.

Now when he came into the shop he would actually run into his crate all by himself and I was able to leave the crate door open all the way and he would simply curl up and go to sleep. He no longer had the urge to kill everything on four legs, and he no longer barked. When I would bring him to the table, all I had to say was "Up" and he would raise up and place his front paws on the table, and I would raise him up onto it. He would "Put it down" at times by himself, and by eight weeks all by himself. He would actually go to sleep on his side while I was brushing him, and he never had a restraint on him again. One day a new client came in to check out the shop while I was working on Starbuck. He was sleeping on the table, and I was brushing him without paying him any attention. This new client was in the front (you could see into the back since there was no door) talking to my boss, but staring at "My" dog while I was working on him. The man finally said that he would not bring his dog to any shop that tranquilized them, and was about to leave when my boss asked me to come to the front. I left Starbuck sleeping and went to see what she wanted. She asked me in front of the man "Is Starbuck tranquilized?". "Of course not!" I replied. With that I turned to Starbuck and said "Buck! In your house!". Starbuck got up, eased himself off the table, and sauntered into his crate. Similar to the red faced new client who turned and sauntered out the door. Never to be seen again!

Now Starbuck could be bathed by the new bather. The only problem was when she would use the high speed blower around his head to get the excess water off. I would have to stand in the back and just look at him and she would be able to finish getting the water off. One day she made a poster to resemble me and as long as he could see it or me, she had no problem.

Then came the day that I had to take care of some personal business before I went to work. My boss new about it, and I didn't think twice about the fact that it was Starbucks day to be there. When I finished my business and got to the shop my boss was fuming. I mean, serious jaw tight! There was Starbuck in his crate, all curled up so I had no idea what was going on. Then it hit the fan. "If you're not going to be here when that "#!@*&#'n" dog comes in, he doesn't stay!" She then went on, "He came in and saw that you weren't here. He stood by the entrance to the back room, looked me right in the eye, lifted his leg, and peed all over the partition." There was more, "It took both of us to get him into the crate, and the first "@#$!#@'n" time he shut up was when he heard your car pull up." I loved that dog. It took all my self control to keep from bursting out in hysterical laughter. As much as I loved Starbuck, my Champion Yorkie bitch loved him that much more.

She had fallen for him big time, somewhere between the second and third week of my grooming him. This little prim and proper lady had lost her heart to the dog hating rogue. It was probably the third week that he came in and went into his crate, she ran out of hers and followed him right into his. She backed him up to the rear of the crate and proceeded to try and lick his nose. The more she tried to jump for his nose the higher he would raise his head. It was a hoot to see these two go through this most bizarre courting ritual. When she got tired of jumping, he laid down and the little hussy curled right into him and the two of them went to sleep. When it was time for his grooming, she got up and went back to her own crate. This became the weekly ritual for as long as Starbuck came to the shop. He was only the second dog that she had ever bonded with, and in my opinion she chose very well.

Be well, and look for more next month.

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