In the Country, Who Needs Big City Dog Grooming

by Dulcy Hooper

Three years ago, our beloved pups, Sophie and Isabel, made the transition from city to country life with nary a woof of dismay.

They were seven years old and accustomed to a predictable regimen of leashed walks on urban sidewalks and occasional visits to the local dog park. Those visits were more for our benefit than theirs, as they clearly had an unabashed disdain for such contrivances.

Sophie and Isabel made the move to the country with joyful enthusiasm, relishing the abundant bounty found in green pastures and the breathtaking panoply of skunks, raccoons, rabbits, foxes, chipmunks and deer.  They are likely still dreaming about a memorable walk through a field at Wingfield Farm — the ground quaking with the thunderous approach of a pack of hounds who swiftly coursed around them without so much as a backward glance.

My husband Richard and I spent a great deal of time meticulously planning for their seamless transition:  veterinary care, grooming, specialty care and an abundance of toys, treats and food.  Like anxious parents, we arranged for records to be forwarded, documenting every sneeze and stumble from their “before” lives. 

As for our own medical records, they’re probably abandoned in a warehouse somewhere.  While we eventually got around to finding a local dentist, we’re lagging behind on doctors, lawyers and hair salons.  

“Where would I go if I cut my finger while cooking?” I asked Richard one night.

“I don’t think that will happen,” he replied, a subtle reference to the fact that I don’t often cook.

“But you know what I mean,” I replied.  “It’s kind of strange. We don’t even know where the nearest hospital is.”

“But we could make our way to the emergency vet with our eyes closed, right?”

“Right,” I noted.  “Well, I guess there’s always 911 in an emergency.” 

When Sophie and Isabel were puppies, I had signed them up tout de suite for grooming in Georgetown.  The place we chose is legendary, as are the prices, a fact I kept to myself for as long as possible

Then came the inevitable.  “Why didn’t you tell me how much all this grooming was costing?” Richard asked.  A scheduling issue had resulted, requiring him to fetch the pups for the first time.  “And please explain why any dog would need a lavender shoulder massage.”

“Well, it’s for their overall sense of emotional and physical well-being,” I said.  “It’s recommended.”

“What about my overall sense of well-being?” Richard asked.

“This is not about you,” I said.  “By the way, I hope you left a good tip?”

“Tip?”

“Haven’t you even noticed how much I’m saving on my hair?” I asked, hoping to gain traction in what was shaping up as an unpleasant conversation.

“Your hair has been looking really good lately,” he said.  “Much more natural.”  

“Natural” was my own color and my own haywire texture, all of which seemed very unnatural to me.  Prior to the girls’ extravagant grooming needs, I had routinely spent the better part of one Saturday morning a month on foil treatments, Japanese straightening, heat re-texturizing and anti-frizzing. It was all in the service of achieving straight hair with “sun-kissed highlights.”

But I’d given it all up.  And now, it seemed, our days with the fancy dog grooming salon were numbered, as well.  I called the following week and the owner’s daughter answered the phone.

“I’m really sorry,” I said.  “My husband just doesn’t understand.”

“We hear that a lot,” she said.  “Some of our regulars set up special accounts so it won’t become an issue.”

“I wish I’d thought of that earlier,” I said.  “But the cat’s out of the bag now.”

The girls went back for one last grooming, complete with all the frills.  They made a great fuss over our pair ofChinese Crested Powder Puffs and kissed them goodbye.  We left with a basket full of bows and ribbons, conditioners for their fur, balm for their paws and lavender for their well-being.

We began taking them to another grooming location, which was less expensive by a mile, but still far from inexpensive.  Later yet, we switched to another location, a short walk from our house, where the philosophy is “Dogs are Dogs.”

As for me, I began going to a barber shop, where a no-frills haircut was cheap and fast.