"Clipper Envy"

By "Kat Hog" Kathy Salzberg
The Village Groomer
1340 Main St.
Walpole, MA 02081
Feb. 15, 1995

It happens in our grooming shops almost every day. The dreamy-eyed woman with the lovestruck face beams in on us as we're working: "You are SO-O-O-O-O lucky!", she says in a breathy voice. "I wish I had your job." When this happens, you probably do what I do, smile back at her so hard your mouth begins to twitch at the corners.

Let's face it, we just don't have the time or the patience to educate this well-meaning lady on what hard-working unsung heroes we really are. Clients like this give us a good laugh, once they've left the building, of course. They weren't there when that big shaggy behavior problem wanted to kill us and eat us for lunch because we tried to cut his nails, or just as we were about to eat lunch when that poor little poodle got sick all over its crate, again, because, as the owner told us with a smile, "the kids let her have all the leftovers from the birthday party."

I don't mean to be negative. I do love my job. But in the view of the starry-eyed groomer wannabe, our occupation looks a lot like playtime with the puppies. Sure, we play and stop our grooming in mid-clip to share Kodak moments. After all, most of us got into this business because we love dogs, except for that small minority who chose to work with animals because they can't stand people. (This puzzles me. Last time I checked, dogs were not writing checks embossed with cute little pictures of cuddly humans to pay for our services.)

Sometimes folks who spend time around the shop or the kennel really do end up working there, sweating and brushing beside us with one eye on the clock, valued members of our team. Entry-level jobs in our field still help pay tuition bills and we can usually accommodate flexible hours for working moms, but many of us now prefer to hire graduates of grooming schools who supposedly will not arrive for work fresh from Fantasyland.

Over the years, I've had my share of winners and losers in the labor market. Some have been grooming school grads, some walk-ins looking for part-time work. Some have become invaluable workers and friends. Some have made my hair stand on end without benefit of a blow dryer. Based upon my experiences, I offer would-be pet care workers the following advice on how NOT to get a job in this industry:

Don't tell the owner what YOU need. For instance, "I'll need an income for the next three years while I'm taking correspondence courses to become a podiatrist." Or, "I expect to be paid 50 per cent for starters, plus tips. I'm excellent on beagles and Labs, what do you get for them?" One assertive young thing told me she wanted the job to gain more experience with her scissoring technique before she opened her own shop downtown. (This doesn't mean I don't expect people to move on, but there's such a thing as being TOO candid, like the young man who paused halfway through our interview to ask if I'd mind if he popped outside for a quick cigarette break.)

Neatness Counts, No need to wear a power suit or high heels with a matching purse, but jeans so tight you have to lay down to zip them or that cute little miniskirt in the back of your closet are really not appropriate. Also, forget the Lee Press-On Nails, they won't make it through your first day on the job in this place. And please remember most potential employers are not impressed by the number of pierced body parts you have, the artistry of your tattoos or your proficiency at gum-snapping.

Submit a thorough resume within reason. Sure, I'd like to know if you graduated from high school, college or grooming school, but do I really need to know that you led your class in Driver Training and still hold the record for parallel parking?

Act like you know something about dogs. Don't blow it in the first five minutes like the guy who asked if the blue and white English Setter I was grooming was a long-haired Dalmatian. (I know, you've heard a lot dumber questions than this, but you expect that from customers, and it gives you a chance to dazzle 'em with your brilliance.)

Have a strong stomach. If you plan to be a bather, you'll have to scrub ALL parts of the dog's anatomy and it's time to start using correct terminology, it's not "tushy" or "winkie." You can expect to encounter fleas and ticks that will give you nightmares. Dog stool and dog drool will become commonplace.

Have a strong body. If you got a weak back about a week back, you can't lift big dogs. If the Cocker Spaniel you're attempting to take out to go potty is an obedience school dropout, will you both end up in the creek behind my shop?

Have a strong sense of humor. You'll need one when you watch your first Husky do back flips in the bathtub, or when you hear that tongue-in-cheek question from a client for the forty-third time: "Hey, can you groom me too?" (It's usually a male who thinks he's quite the wit, and he's half right.)

A piece of advice for fellow employers: Be careful how you phrase it when you turn down a job applicant. One introverted young woman brought her teddy bear along for the interview. "This is Ambrose," she confided, hugging her soiled, stuffed companion to her breast. "He goes everywhere with me." Immediately after each question I asked, she paused to confer in a whisper with her toy pet, probably about company benefits. I sidestepped the reasons for my discomfort with her as a prospective employee because I had already made up my mind to give the bather's job to a strapping male college student when I had interviewed him earlier. In retrospect, I probably would have done better with the unusual young woman; the college hunk turned out to have a short temper and an allergic reaction to shampoos and dog hair. Unfortunately, she's no longer available. You may have seen her on Oprah, she's on tour with her best-selling book, "Women Who Love Their Teddy Bears Too Much."In closing, let me wish you well in your pet care careers. One thing you will soon find out: You don't have to enlist in the Army to say "It's not just a job, it's an adventure!