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I am a dog groomer and I
love my work. Not the most glamorous job in the world to be sure, but rife
with certain satisfactions. I was destined to work with animals; one of my
earliest memories is of me begging my mother to give me ground beef that I
might use to keep our huge, mop like, smelly dog standing still while I
brushed at his hopelessly matted coat. My path was set early on and for
over 20 years I have spent most of my days turning scruffy house pets into
clean, tidy ones.
I have gained a certain
level of expertise at what I do, and experience along with age has given me
a comfortable sense of confidence as I go about my daily rounds. I well
remember my first efforts at grooming. I recall the total uncertainty I felt
about absolutely everything to do with the job. Handling the animals was
terrifying, and using sharp tools on critters that could leap and spin with
no warning struck my heart with a fear that literally gave me nightmares.
But now things are different. I approach my work with calm surety.
Recently a new dog came
to our shop with its housemate, a small buff cocker spaniel I had groomed
successfully several times. The new dog looked like it had stepped out of a
casting call for a Disney movie. He sat perfectly still at his owners feet,
exuding character without making a move. Shaped roughly like a basketball
with stubby legs, his compact body was covered with a dense, wiry white coat
that was artfully splashed with blotches of glossy black. His ears looked
as if they were designed for a much larger dog. They stood up proudly on the
top of his head like twin antennae, bristling with unruly hair. He cut his
enormous, soulful eyes at me, showing a generous slice of the white at the
side of each dark orb. He was totally engaging and I was instantly smitten.
The little Disney dog had
a number of lumpy clumps of tangled coat on his back and sides, which is why
he was in to visit with me. I put him right up on my table and swiftly
removed the worst of the matting before sending him to the next room for a
bath. I was acting with certainty; I had quickly assessed this little dogs
coat type and temperament and was proceeding with the plan for his care that
I had formulated within seconds of clapping eyes on him. All was well in my
world.
The girls in the back
bathed the scruffy little dog with a mild shampoo, smoothed conditioner
through his skin and coat and rinsed him well. They trimmed his nails and
cleaned his wild ears. They brushed and fluffed him, then placed him in a
warm cage on a cozy towel to await the grooming I would give him. For my
part, I was eagerly anticipating more time with the adorable little guy.
Finally I was able to
gather the ball of black and white fuzz in my arms and take him to my
grooming station. I placed him on my table, patting and fussing over him.
He stared at my face with those eyes, those eyes, and thumped his
tail sweetly as I brushed and trimmed and groomed him. Waves of
self-satisfaction washed over me. I had to share this experience with my
boss, Liz. A groomer of more than 40 years, I knew she would relate to my
thoughts.
“Liz, you know the best
thing about having groomed for so long?” I asked. “It is the KNOWING. I mean,
just look at this little dog….” Liz approached my table and gazed down at
the paragon of adorableness that I was gesturing to. “After grooming all
these years, we can just look at this dog and know he is an angel.
The dog turned his head to Liz and I could see she, too was lost in the
pools of his eyes. His freshly washed coat stood out like a bottlebrush,
and the fur on his ears had reached epic proportions of cuteness. I brushed
and combed him as I continued, “I mean, just look at him! You can
tell at a glance that this dog is the soul of goodness.” Liz was with me,
totally absorbed in the vision of the sweet, clean dog, and wrapped up in
the obvious wisdom of my words. This was a crystalline moment of shared
experience. Two competent women engaged in their work.
The moment the last word
of my sentence hit the air, the little dog spun with speed that belied his
rotundity. A guttural growl, the sort only heard on horror movies involving
mummies and vampires, tore through the peaceful atmosphere, and the air was
punctuated by the distinct sound of sharp white fangs snapping repeatedly as
they desperately tried to maul my hands or any other soft part of me in
reach.
With the reflexes of one
who works with animals or electricity, I leapt back in the nick of time,
feeling just the air current from the dogs lips brush my skin. My head
snapped up and I caught Liz’ eyes… they were bigger than Moon Pie’s as she
took in the near miss I had just experienced and the incredible irony of the
moment. We were frozen for one long breath, and then in unison we dissolved
in hysterical laughter, clutching our sides and wiping dumbly at the tears
that flowed down our faces.
The “Soul of Goodness”
had resumed his Buddha-like pose on the table, pacific, angelic, and
motionless. He had imparted a lesson in humility and his work was done.
Well done.
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