5/10/15: From Scraggly to Scrumptious
Shaggy Bryn rocketed around in the dog park, just barely ahead of two larger dogs in hot pursuit. The threesome roared through the huge arena at full speed for a long time before pausing to shake, sniff bottoms and wrestle in spring dirt. Finally, she flopped down on the dusty earth under some leaf-naked birch trees, long tongue hung low, panting in the spring heat. Her thick, long, once-white coat was grubby gray. Exhausted, happy and very hot, she wandered over to drink deeply from the park’s water bowl. Dripping liquid created long, ropey black dirt tendrils that dangled from her chin-beard. Yuck!
I love her woolly look and brush her every morning, but to keep her clean and un-matted in summer, when she wallowed in water and mud, would be a challenge. I said as much to another owner standing next to me. “Well,” he grinned, “here’s a solution! There’s a guy, Barry Schweirkart, who’ll come to your house to relieve Bryn of that pile of hair, in style. Our big dog, Charley, used to whine and try to slink away when we drove him to the groomers, but now, whenever Barry drives up to our home with his trailer- a clever dog salon complete with tub and table and all the relevant stuff he needs- he’s greeted with lots of wagging and licking. They’re friends. Charley walks right into the trailer, and the rest is easy.” (How did Barry get started? A few years ago he tried to set up an appointment to get his dogs trimmed, but the wait was far too long- weeks. His annoyance morphed into an ‘Aha!’ moment. He could do it! He loved dogs, and had a way with them: why not enroll in school to learn the art of grooming? It could be a fine way to earn money. Plus, he’d never have a boring day.)
We noted the clever business name- ‘Clippin’ Along.’ I rang the number on his website and left a message, the minute we got home. Barry rang me back in early evening and we settled on a date- May 7th, late enough that Bryn’s reduced coat wouldn’t be a problem, as summer is right around the corner.
I was nervous, though. I’d heard owners comment that no matter how many times they tried to tell professional clippers what they wanted, their dog was shorn too short, or weirdly, or how the groomer thought it should look. Facial hair was often cut incorrectly. I loved Bryn’s long whiskers, and her interesting, fuzzy face: would those endearing features vanish?
A picture is worth a ton of words, so I entered ‘labradoodle haircut ideas’ on Google, and prowled through endless photos showing trimming possibilities. She could look like a pampered poodle- ugh!- or a slim, shorn, leggy doodle with a skinny tail- ugh!- or come away with odd-bod cuts favored by owners. Only a few doodle-ly-dos appealed to me. Simply put, I wanted a shorter, tidier version of what she had. I saved two photos to show Barry, and crossed my fingers.
On Thursday morning he arrived right on time- a tall, comfortably built man with a cheerful demeanor. I liked him immediately. We sat on the front porch and I proffered the photos. “Leave her lovely tail as it is; ditto her whiskers. I love her eyebrows, but there’s too much hair around her eyes; she can’t see through all that shrubbery. What can you do?”
He listened, studied the photos. A curious Bryn watched us chatting through the screen door. I invited her outside to meet Barry. She came to him slowly, sniffed his hand, sat, and calmly offered a paw. He took it gently. “Would this be her first haircut?” Yup.
“How old is she?”
“One year and four months,” I responded.
He was amazed. “So young, and yet so calm! Labradoodles are so exuberant and full of energy they can hardly contain themselves. How unusual to work with a calm, young ‘doodle!’
I grinned, reassured when he commented that Bryn would be more comfortable and tidily attractive when he’d finished. He would stick to my guidelines.
The thing is- Bryn’s hair grows back slowly. Very slowly. If this turned out badly, she and I would be stuck in ‘dopeydogland’ for a very long time. Oh well. In for a penny…
.
We three walked to his compact trailer and through a sturdy screened door. Inside was a spanking clean room, efficiently filled with tub, adjustable grooming table and all the equipment he’d need. Bryn could see her home through the door. He picked her up and placed her gently into the tub. She minded not at all. I told her to stay, and turned away. She understood that Barry was in charge now.
He put on a waterproof apron and began to shampoo her. She was fine with that, and stood there patiently. I remained inside for just a minute, pretending to examine the literature on the far wall.
A minute later I left without fanfare or eye contact.
90 minutes later my dog ambled up the walk.
I stared!
Bryn. Was. Gorgeous!
And I swear, she knew it! Her tail wagged; she grinned and pranced about, happily showing off her white, soft coat. Two inches of her over four-inch-long scraggly hair had gone, and her dear face was trimmed perfectly. Those brown eyes would view the world without hairy barriers, but she was the same funny labradoodle I loved to look at. (And, to my husband’s pretend dismay, she sported a cute little ribbon atop her left ear.)
I’d never seen her look this good. The man had listened- and delivered!
The price for this fine service isn’t cheap.
But, for me, his sensitivity and talent were worth every penny.
Shaggy Bryn rocketed around in the dog park, just barely ahead of two larger dogs in hot pursuit. The threesome roared through the huge arena at full speed for a long time before pausing to shake, sniff bottoms and wrestle in spring dirt. Finally, she flopped down on the dusty earth under some leaf-naked birch trees, long tongue hung low, panting in the spring heat. Her thick, long, once-white coat was grubby gray. Exhausted, happy and very hot, she wandered over to drink deeply from the park’s water bowl. Dripping liquid created long, ropey black dirt tendrils that dangled from her chin-beard. Yuck!
I love her woolly look and brush her every morning, but to keep her clean and un-matted in summer, when she wallowed in water and mud, would be a challenge. I said as much to another owner standing next to me. “Well,” he grinned, “here’s a solution! There’s a guy, Barry Schweirkart, who’ll come to your house to relieve Bryn of that pile of hair, in style. Our big dog, Charley, used to whine and try to slink away when we drove him to the groomers, but now, whenever Barry drives up to our home with his trailer- a clever dog salon complete with tub and table and all the relevant stuff he needs- he’s greeted with lots of wagging and licking. They’re friends. Charley walks right into the trailer, and the rest is easy.” (How did Barry get started? A few years ago he tried to set up an appointment to get his dogs trimmed, but the wait was far too long- weeks. His annoyance morphed into an ‘Aha!’ moment. He could do it! He loved dogs, and had a way with them: why not enroll in school to learn the art of grooming? It could be a fine way to earn money. Plus, he’d never have a boring day.)
We noted the clever business name- ‘Clippin’ Along.’ I rang the number on his website and left a message, the minute we got home. Barry rang me back in early evening and we settled on a date- May 7th, late enough that Bryn’s reduced coat wouldn’t be a problem, as summer is right around the corner.
I was nervous, though. I’d heard owners comment that no matter how many times they tried to tell professional clippers what they wanted, their dog was shorn too short, or weirdly, or how the groomer thought it should look. Facial hair was often cut incorrectly. I loved Bryn’s long whiskers, and her interesting, fuzzy face: would those endearing features vanish?
A picture is worth a ton of words, so I entered ‘labradoodle haircut ideas’ on Google, and prowled through endless photos showing trimming possibilities. She could look like a pampered poodle- ugh!- or a slim, shorn, leggy doodle with a skinny tail- ugh!- or come away with odd-bod cuts favored by owners. Only a few doodle-ly-dos appealed to me. Simply put, I wanted a shorter, tidier version of what she had. I saved two photos to show Barry, and crossed my fingers.
On Thursday morning he arrived right on time- a tall, comfortably built man with a cheerful demeanor. I liked him immediately. We sat on the front porch and I proffered the photos. “Leave her lovely tail as it is; ditto her whiskers. I love her eyebrows, but there’s too much hair around her eyes; she can’t see through all that shrubbery. What can you do?”
He listened, studied the photos. A curious Bryn watched us chatting through the screen door. I invited her outside to meet Barry. She came to him slowly, sniffed his hand, sat, and calmly offered a paw. He took it gently. “Would this be her first haircut?” Yup.
“How old is she?”
“One year and four months,” I responded.
He was amazed. “So young, and yet so calm! Labradoodles are so exuberant and full of energy they can hardly contain themselves. How unusual to work with a calm, young ‘doodle!’
I grinned, reassured when he commented that Bryn would be more comfortable and tidily attractive when he’d finished. He would stick to my guidelines.
The thing is- Bryn’s hair grows back slowly. Very slowly. If this turned out badly, she and I would be stuck in ‘dopeydogland’ for a very long time. Oh well. In for a penny…
.
We three walked to his compact trailer and through a sturdy screened door. Inside was a spanking clean room, efficiently filled with tub, adjustable grooming table and all the equipment he’d need. Bryn could see her home through the door. He picked her up and placed her gently into the tub. She minded not at all. I told her to stay, and turned away. She understood that Barry was in charge now.
He put on a waterproof apron and began to shampoo her. She was fine with that, and stood there patiently. I remained inside for just a minute, pretending to examine the literature on the far wall.
A minute later I left without fanfare or eye contact.
90 minutes later my dog ambled up the walk.
I stared!
Bryn. Was. Gorgeous!
And I swear, she knew it! Her tail wagged; she grinned and pranced about, happily showing off her white, soft coat. Two inches of her over four-inch-long scraggly hair had gone, and her dear face was trimmed perfectly. Those brown eyes would view the world without hairy barriers, but she was the same funny labradoodle I loved to look at. (And, to my husband’s pretend dismay, she sported a cute little ribbon atop her left ear.)
I’d never seen her look this good. The man had listened- and delivered!
The price for this fine service isn’t cheap.
But, for me, his sensitivity and talent were worth every penny.