Pandemic Grooming
This week our favorite dog groomer, who used to work at our doggie daycare, called to say she had set-up her own shop. Early in the pandemic she had sent us a text to let us know that she had been laid off. Saddened we asked her to please let us know when she was back in business. We will be among her first customers. The fresh exchange reminded me of the early grooming challenges of lockdown.
Over a month into stay-at-home restrictions last spring, we were all starting to look shaggy — me, Jeff and our Cavapoo, Archie. Barbershops, hair salons and dog groomers had all been shuttered for weeks. Luckily, I have a pair of high-quality scissors and can competently trim my own bangs. There was an article in the New York Times on how to cut men's hair, but clippers were out of stock on Amazon. Jeff's son Chris, who had once trained as a barber, saved us, sending clippers and giving me a FaceTime tutorial as I nervously trimmed. Not bad, we all agreed admiring the final result.
Archie was another story. Doggie daycare, where he had been being groomed once a month, was closed as were all the other groomers in town. I managed to buy a grooming kit online and watched a video on technique, but it seemed too dangerous given a wiggly pup and sharp objects. One day I read a comment on NextDoor where someone said they had gotten their dog a cut by a groomer we had used before. It was worth a try.
I called right away and asked if I could get an appointment. The woman who answered sounded slightly alarmed. "Where did you hear that we were grooming?" I explained and said that we had taken Archie to them in the past. After my brief description, she remembered him — "long eyelashes and very social." That's my dog!
She then launched into a long tale of her struggles. The business closures were excessive. Who was going to take care of the pets of frontline medical workers or bathe the dogs of owners who were allergic? Wasn't this essential work? People needed help and she was there for her clients, even at some personal risk. I listened patiently, acknowledging how hard it must be. We scheduled an appointment. I promised I would tell no one.
We were to meet a man at a large set of mailboxes on the westside just off the highway at 11 am. He arrived in a dark SVU, took Archie and asked what kind of cut we wanted. "Teddy Bear; don't trim his eyelashes." He said they would call when we could pick him up and to bring cash. Then he left with our dog.
Later that afternoon we came back, cash in hand including a hefty tip. It felt illicit, more like a ransom than a business transaction. All that was missing were unmarked bills and a blindfold on the dog. It was worth being scofflaws. Archie no longer looked like a ragamuffin and by the time he needed his next trim, the groomers were back in business.
Next week he will go back to his favorite groomer and ours — a small step toward normalcy.