I don’t know why I bother. Do I have the word “SCHMUCK” tattooed on my forehead? I didn’t see one when I put on my makeup this morning. I guess it could have happened when I hit the floor over the price of my latest shampoo purchase. Did you know that now they put actual gold in dog shampoo? They must if they expect me to pay what they’re asking. Anyway, the point is that my “SCHMUCK” tattoo was firmly in place by the time old Mrs. Belvedere walked in. She was tall and well dressed, an older businesswoman with a determined glint in her eye. This was a new client and one look made my heart just sink through the floor. Looking at the dog it was easy to see why. An growling Old English Sheepdog the size of my sister’s horse was crouching behind her, trying to pull her back out the front door, and I could see the bunchy matts hanging off his coat from across the room. I just knew what was coming, so I fixed my “I’m a nice confident pet groomer you can’t walk all over” smile on my face and headed over to introduce myself.
She looked down her nose at me and said, “Dylan needs to have a bit of a brush. I haven‘t had time to get to it these past couple weeks. I really don’t think he needs a bath so much as a good comb through.”
Yeah right, lady. That’s gonna happen! Did you happen to notice the dreadlocks covering that dog? If you’ve picked up a brush in the last year I’ll quit my job today and become and accountant. I wondered- could she see my head getting ready to explode.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s just see where his coat’s at.” I knelt down to feel what I already knew was a felt sweater. Darling Dylan gave me a wide tooth grin and tried to snap my fingers off before I could touch him. Mrs. Belvedere held his head for me (ha-ha he hasn’t had his morning romp yet) and I managed to sneak a feel of his hind end. I made a show of feeling for matts- the whole dog was one big matt. “Well,” I said, “I don’t think I will be able to save his coat, ma’am. He’s pretty severely matted. He’ll have to be shaved.” As she drew herself up to her full height to veto that idea I added, “And he’s probably not going to let me work with him. I’d like to have the vet sedate him.” You would have thought I’d said we were going to shoot him then and there. Her face went completely pale and she started shouting. “I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU WANT TO SEDATE MY SWEET DYLAN-DOODLE” I kid you not, she said Dylan-Doodle. “HE HAS NEVER BEEN TREATED LIKE A- A- A DANGEROUS DOG! MY LAST GROOMER ADORED HIM!”
“Well,” I said through my clenched teeth, “Why didn’t you call your regular groomer for an appointment?”
“SHE HAS A BAD BACK AND CAN’T DO SHEEPDOGS ANYMORE!”
Yeah right. Smart girl, that groomer. I wonder if she recommended me as a replacement? What did I ever do to her? So I said as Mrs. Belvedere stopped to take a breath, “I’m sorry but if Dylan stays here today he’s getting shaved. I’ll be happy to try it without sedation, but you’ll have to sign a release form in case the vet needs to sedate him. If you want him to have a full coat he’ll have to come back for a bath every month at least once he grows out a little, probably every two weeks. It’s up to you .” She stood there staring at me, red in the face, mouth gaping like a large mouth bass. I stared back with my hands fisted behind my back and my eyes glazed. God I hate confrontation. I read somewhere that in a battle of wills the first one to break down and talk loses. I wasn’t brushing out a matted dog that wanted to kill me, so I kept my mouth shut. Seconds went by. Finally, she spoke. “Well I suppose if you only take half off- a puppy cut-”
“It’s all or nothing, Mrs. Belvedere. I can’t brush out those mats. It would hurt Dylan way too much.” Silence. I never knew how loud the office clock ticked. But I'd heard somewhere that the first person to break the silence was always the one to cave, and I bit my lip hard while I stared at her patent leather shoes. I'm not looking at you! I’m not caving this time! I want my back and my shoulders and especially my fingers in one piece this afternoon!
After what seemed like forever, success! The woman kind of wilted like a water starved rose. “Oh fine. Do what you have to. I’ll be back at twelve for him.”
“I’ll have him ready at three, Mrs. Belvedere.” I knew I was pushing it, but he needed time to wake up from his sedation. “And don’t forget to sign the release form with the receptionist.” She glared at me and I swear she was imagining my very painful death. But she tossed the leash at me without a word and stalked over to the front desk. I won! Dylan was getting shaved, and I got to keep my sanity!
As the door slammed behind her I almost did a little dance. Almost. Dylan, if I could see past the matt hanging over his eyes, was definitely glaring at me. Sigh. Let’s get started, shall we? When I tugged on his leash he tugged back with a warning rumble. And do you know, as I stood there trying to come up with a plan to win the next battle in the War of the Matted Sheepdog, a young woman in a business suit came through the door with a tiny Maltese in her arms. She took one look at me in my grooming smock and said, somewhat sarcastically, “It must be nice to play with dogs all day for a living.”
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