Groomer Gal

Showering is such a lonely business. You stand there in your birthday suit, as warm water cascades down upon you, soothing your tired neck, washing all your cares away. Your mind starts to wander, and soon you’re under a Hawaiian waterfall with Brad Pitt and Angie’s somewhere in Germany or France or Zimbabwe with all those kids. It’s just you and Brad getting friendly. And then you remember that promise you made to stay environmentally faithful. This shower is supposed to be green, remember? Make it fast. There’s no time to linger with Brad. Scrub up, rinse off and get out. You’re done in five minutes. Hang on, you say, as you towel off. What about that old bumper sticker from the Sixties? You know the one: Save water, shower with a friend.

Showering with Brad could save the planet. But something tells you Brad isn’t available, along with other fantasy shower-mates you keep on speed dial. You need a new shower buddy, one you’re more likely to recruit. I found mine, and you can too.  My friend isn’t such a fan of water, anyway. He’d stay green forever, if given the choice. Call it in-breeding or over-breeding. A genetic glitch, if you will. But H20 makes my Labrador skittish.

Most dogs can’t get enough of the stuff. They jump into the pool uninvited, splash around and take over. Not Dusty. He cowers and whines and makes a fuss. He runs the second I turn on the gardening hose. A rainy day makes him nervous. I open the door. He tilts his head. He looks at me funny. He makes a bee-line for the couch. “I’m not going out there,” he conveys. “I’ll get wet, silly.”

His water-aversion is conservation at its best. Dusty is anti-agua. He’s been this way for six years and it’s not likely to change. I’ve had to figure out ways to coax my canine toward cleanliness. Let me tell you, it hasn’t been easy.  A few traumatic trips to U Dirty Dog and I knew there must be a gentler way. I had to dig down deep and search my soul. I had to set my fears aside and figure this thing out. Sure, there were some missteps along the way; some in-home sneak attacks that backfired. My spirits were dented, along with my floors.  It took a while, longer than I would’ve liked, but after much trial and error, I did it. I transformed myself into Groomer Gal. I’ve taken that old bumper sticker one step further: Save water, shower with a furry friend.

Every month or so, I lure Dusty into the downstairs bathroom with treats. He follows me in without a fight. I take off his collar and shut the glass door behind us.  He gives me a look. “This again?” “Don’t worry,” I say softly, “I’ll make it fast.” I do my best to make it snappy. I suds him up and rinse him off. I collect gobs of his hair. I clean his ears and brush his teeth.  Did I mention I’m in the buff the whole time?

At the end, I tell him the good news. “That’s it, we’re done.” He licks my face, he’s so happy. I open the door and set him free.  “Stand back,” I yell, if anyone’s home. “Here he comes.”  Whereupon Dusty runs wildly through the house, spraying water everywhere, leaving puddles behind. Drying him off is harder than washing him up. I’m still working on that part. I’m sure I’ll get it down, eventually. After all, I’m Naked Groomer Gal, saving the world one drop at a time. I’m thinking of opening up my own business. I’d probably clean up.