Some groomers have a sign in their shops that reads, "I'm a Groomer, Not a Miracle Worker," or "We're Dog Beauticians, Not Magicians." Not me. I think pet groomers are magicians and miracle workers, too. I know I am. No, I'm not a toy poodle-sized talent with a Great Dane ego and I haven't been sniffing the dip. I can cite examples of my unique powers.
One of my best customers is a roly-poly Old English Sheepdog named Chloe. She's been a once-a-month client for years and I keep her in a neat Teddy Bear trim. She always leaves the shop with a beautiful bow on top of her head, but her owner, a well-meaning lady I'll call Mrs. Humphrey, has always subscribed to the belief that a Sheepdog must have hair hanging in front of its eyes or else! Or else what? It will go blind? It will demand a baseball cap? It will decide the color scheme in the family room is all wrong?
On a recent visit, Mrs. Humphrey was clearly distraught. With tears in her eyes, she told me, "I think Chloe is going blind." She suspected this because the poor dog kept bumping into things, the kitchen cabinet, the TV, and the neighbor's Volkswagen Rabbit which now sported a crater-sized dent the exact circumference of Chloe's head. She was more certain of her diagnosis when she took Chloe for her rabies shot and the big dog went to bite the vet and missed! "That's never happened before," the poor woman sobbed. Immediately, she made an appointment with a leading canine opthamologist, promising she would let me know the results. When she phoned a week later, she sounded a bit sheepish, (no pun intended.) The specialist had examined darling Chloe and come up with an instant cure. The instrument chosen to restore the dog's sight? None other than moi. You see, the next time Chloe came in for a grooming, the eminent doctor recommended I cut her bangs. (For this, he receives $100 per hour.) I must say, Chloe has gorgeous eyes, one brown, one blue, both sparkling with delight at our little secret.
That's not my only miracle. Take the case of Baxter, the adorable Yorkshire Terrier whose great floppy ears were a huge embarrassment to his owner who took pride in the well-bred pup's silky, flowing coat. I always groomed him the way I had been taught, (yes, they did have electric clippers back then), shaving the top third of his ears and festooning his head with a neat topknot. To me, he looked great, but his ears still flopped. A few groomings ago, I had a stroke of genius. (Yes, I do sometimes wonder if I should have turned my talents to something with greater implications for mankind, like politics, philosophy or the Home Shopping Network.) With permission from Baxter's owner, I shaved those errant earmuffs completely off. Lo and behold, those bat-like ears stood at attention. I felt a warm glow as the little dog and his proud owner left the shop. (Okay, the ten-dollar tip didn't hurt either.) That man was walking so tall, you'd have sworn he was Buford Pusser.
Not convinced? How about the time I cured a dog's paralysis? His name was Dusty and he was one of my favorite breeds, a purebred cocker-poo with papers. A victim of the downturn in the economy, his owner had let the dog's grooming fall by the wayside and Dusty's curly coat was the type that matted if you sneezed in his direction. I didn't see him all winter and when he came limping into the shop in May, I became alarmed. As the poor dog dragged his shaggy bottom across the floor, his owner shook his head. "He's been doing this all week. As soon as I get him groomed, I'll take him straight to the vet." With dread in his voice, the guilt-ridden man whispered, "Kathy, can a dog get polio?" One hour and five blades later, I had done it again. Dusty was moonwalking across my table like Michael Jackson and I was thinking Letterman Show. His joyful owner wept with delight as he left with his naked but happy pet as I savored my newfound kinship with Mother Teresa of Calcutta. That's why I tell my groomer friends to take down those silly signs. We do perform magic every day and for us, it's a labor of love. Most days, that's miracle enough for me.