Every forty-eight hours, rain or shine, I gather Truffle’s comb, slicker brush, two pieces of kibble, and a spray bottle of something called “The Stuff.” I put Truffle on my lap, turn him on his back, console him with a piece of kibble, and go to work. Truffle doesn’t rebel. If you weigh six pounds and are in the hands of a comparative behemoth, you don’t rebel.
On the theory that it’s best to get the worst over with, I start on his belly. This is the place most likely to have developed knots, since Truffle has to wear a belly band when he’s loose in the house. I spritz the area with “The Stuff.” I work slowly and carefully, but inevitably the comb snags on a knot and Truffle gives a nasal, high-pitched yelp that makes me jump and drowns my soul in guilt. I apologize, loosen (or cut off) the knot, run the slicker brush over the short hair on his legs, and make my way to his chest.
Truffle’s tiny chest is covered in a kind of Santa’s beard, a ruff of white cottony fur so thick that I have never seen the skin under it. I comb and comb, hoping that this will take care of any knots lurking at the base. Then I turn him over. As those of you with long-haired dogs know, the fur between the base of the ears and the shoulders is the most problematic. For Truffle, who wears the equivalent of an entire German Shepherd’s undercoat in an area of a few square inches, this requires many minutes of dedicated combing.
Next I do his back, which has slightly shorter orange-brown and black hair, and finally his tail and hind legs, which have the longest hair of all. Then, with a piece of toilet paper I carefully dig out any black goop that has gathered in the inner corner of his blue eye, repeat with the corner of his brown eye, administer the second piece of kibble, and set Truffle on the floor. The whole process takes about fifteen minutes, or five times as long as I spend on my own hair on any given day.
If I say so myself, Truffle looks magnificent. No Renaissance nobleman can match the elegance of his ruff. At the nether end, his pantaloons practically skim the ground, and the long white hairs on his arched tail flow up and out like a fountain over his back. Seen from above, he looks almost round, kind of like a raccoon. As he walks around the house, his coat waves in slow motion like…like…Forgive me, but I’ve run out of similes.
Truffle trots off to the bedroom and goes into his crate, leaving me to wonder, does he resent me for grooming him? Is that why he’s gone away? Does he know that I do it not for the sake of beauty, but of health? What if he thinks that I do it for my own sadistic pleasure?
Everyone who has ever had a dog has wondered what is going on in the animal’s mind. But in Truffle’s case, given his years in a cage, imprisoned so he could pass on his fab coat to untold numbers of puppies, this would have been especially useful. I remember the first months I had him, when he wouldn’t look me in the eye, tolerated limply the baths and meds I had to administer, and couldn’t wait to get away from me. I used to sing him a version of Mary Magdalene’s plaint in Jesus Christ Superstar: I don’t know how to loooove you, what to do, how to woo you. You’re a dog. You’re just a dog. And I’ve had so many dogs before, in very many ways, you’re just one more….
Except he wasn’t “just one more.” No dog ever is. Now, after more than a year with us, Truffle has almost become a regular dog, turning on his side for belly rubs, rejoicing when I come home, taking no guff from the cat, and coming to me often, of his own volition, to be touched. So I have to believe that, whatever he thinks the purpose of those grooming sessions is, he doesn’t hold them against me.
One Response
Aaand this is why I can’t have a pet – there is no way, with my zero energy level, I could take care of it properly, and it is not fair to dump another complete set of tasks onto my husband’s plate.
This is probably good interaction time for you two, even though it doesn’t seem that way yet, and it’s necessary whether Truffle realizes it or likes it or doesn’t.
So many pet owners are really rotten to their pets.