baymule
Garden Master
I tip my hat to pet groomers. I have a very large and hairy Great Pyrenees that sheds massive voluminous wads of under fur, hair, and more under fur. The fall shed isn't so bad as the spring/early summer shed. After a grooming session with Paris, my GP, I am covered in hair, spitting hair, and need a good grooming myself. How do dog/cat groomers do it without immediately needing a shower and change of clothes after each animal?
I use a furminator and a dog brush. The furminator really drags out the under fur, the dog brush pretty much does nothing, but Paris likes it. I take a grocery bag and fill it up with hair. I am just a dog owner, so no fancy grooming equipment, no grooming table, just me, the dog and the furminator.
To begin; I leave Polly and Parker in the house so I don't get any "help". Polly is our Australian Shepherd, she and Paris hate each other anyway and it would be a death sentence for Polly to go in the backyard. Parker is our black Lab/Great Dane mix and he thinks he should be in the middle of whatever I am doing. So while I groom Paris, the other two lay in front of the patio glass doors and cry because they aren't getting my attention.
I sprawl out on the deck and call Paris to me. I get lots of kisses and I begin. I make a stroke with the furminator and grab the wad of fur and place it in the grocery bag. This is also the signal for long, light, filaments of fur to waft on the air and enter my nose, mouth, hair, clothing, eyes, armpits, blue jean pockets and any other surface it can adhere to. It floats in the air, suspended, waiting to attack when I am not looking.
Paris is a livestock guard dog and she takes her job very seriously. VERY SERIOUSLY! And what better time to show me how well she performs her job than when I am showering her with attention? A motorcycle goes down the street in front of the house and she rips from my grasp to run from side to side in the back yard, barking threateningly at it. I have no doubt that she would take one down if she ever got out. I wait. Satisfied that she has chased it away, she comes back. I make more swipes with the furminator, get more wads of fur, get covered with more fur and spit more fur. The neighbor has the audacity to walk in their own back yard and she launches at the back fence, putting her big paws on top of the 4' chain link fence and shaking the other 3' of welded wire we raised the fence with, biting it with her teeth. I feel much safer now. Paris! Come back! She thinks about a moment, then SHE decides she will.
I roll her over on her side and work her over with the furminator. Paris decides she should not have to submit to the indignity of having the long fluffy "petticoats" on the back of her back legs brushed and all the mats pulled out. She runs off. Paris! (in a high pitched squeaky voice) Come'ere girl! Come on! Good girl! Paris nonchalantly strolls over to the bathtub that is her watering hole and takes a long cool drink. Drooling, dripping water, she returns to me and plants a wet one on my face. It is clear-Paris is in complete control.
I make more strokes with the furminator, releasing more attack dog hair, capturing what I can to stuff in the grocery bag. She tries to take off again and I grab her tail, hauling her back. I hold her tail with one hand and drag the furminator through her thick coat with the other. Two strokes and it is clogged with fur, I lay it on the deck and pull the fur loose and put it in the bag. Paris gently chews my hand that is still holding her tail. I grab her legs and flip her on her back. I drag her into position and remove more hair with the furminator. What a miracle tool! A buzzard flies over the yard, high in the sky. Paris scrambles to her feet and leaps in the air, snapping her jaws together at the intruding buzzard. It soars out of sight. Paris is the winner!! She trots back to me triumphantly for me to praise her for a job well done, which of course I do. The grocery bag is stuffed full of fur and that is my signal to stop. I lavish praise and love on Paris and turn the furminator and dog brush on myself. I put away my grooming tools, place the bag of fur in the trash and head for the shower!
I use a furminator and a dog brush. The furminator really drags out the under fur, the dog brush pretty much does nothing, but Paris likes it. I take a grocery bag and fill it up with hair. I am just a dog owner, so no fancy grooming equipment, no grooming table, just me, the dog and the furminator.
To begin; I leave Polly and Parker in the house so I don't get any "help". Polly is our Australian Shepherd, she and Paris hate each other anyway and it would be a death sentence for Polly to go in the backyard. Parker is our black Lab/Great Dane mix and he thinks he should be in the middle of whatever I am doing. So while I groom Paris, the other two lay in front of the patio glass doors and cry because they aren't getting my attention.
I sprawl out on the deck and call Paris to me. I get lots of kisses and I begin. I make a stroke with the furminator and grab the wad of fur and place it in the grocery bag. This is also the signal for long, light, filaments of fur to waft on the air and enter my nose, mouth, hair, clothing, eyes, armpits, blue jean pockets and any other surface it can adhere to. It floats in the air, suspended, waiting to attack when I am not looking.
Paris is a livestock guard dog and she takes her job very seriously. VERY SERIOUSLY! And what better time to show me how well she performs her job than when I am showering her with attention? A motorcycle goes down the street in front of the house and she rips from my grasp to run from side to side in the back yard, barking threateningly at it. I have no doubt that she would take one down if she ever got out. I wait. Satisfied that she has chased it away, she comes back. I make more swipes with the furminator, get more wads of fur, get covered with more fur and spit more fur. The neighbor has the audacity to walk in their own back yard and she launches at the back fence, putting her big paws on top of the 4' chain link fence and shaking the other 3' of welded wire we raised the fence with, biting it with her teeth. I feel much safer now. Paris! Come back! She thinks about a moment, then SHE decides she will.
I roll her over on her side and work her over with the furminator. Paris decides she should not have to submit to the indignity of having the long fluffy "petticoats" on the back of her back legs brushed and all the mats pulled out. She runs off. Paris! (in a high pitched squeaky voice) Come'ere girl! Come on! Good girl! Paris nonchalantly strolls over to the bathtub that is her watering hole and takes a long cool drink. Drooling, dripping water, she returns to me and plants a wet one on my face. It is clear-Paris is in complete control.
I make more strokes with the furminator, releasing more attack dog hair, capturing what I can to stuff in the grocery bag. She tries to take off again and I grab her tail, hauling her back. I hold her tail with one hand and drag the furminator through her thick coat with the other. Two strokes and it is clogged with fur, I lay it on the deck and pull the fur loose and put it in the bag. Paris gently chews my hand that is still holding her tail. I grab her legs and flip her on her back. I drag her into position and remove more hair with the furminator. What a miracle tool! A buzzard flies over the yard, high in the sky. Paris scrambles to her feet and leaps in the air, snapping her jaws together at the intruding buzzard. It soars out of sight. Paris is the winner!! She trots back to me triumphantly for me to praise her for a job well done, which of course I do. The grocery bag is stuffed full of fur and that is my signal to stop. I lavish praise and love on Paris and turn the furminator and dog brush on myself. I put away my grooming tools, place the bag of fur in the trash and head for the shower!
