Essay: Cutting Gizmo's Hair

I took some creative courses at Athabasca University between 2008 and 2010. For one assignment I was supposed to describe an everyday process or system. Here is an updated version of what I wrote:

My Gizmo is an eleven pound dog, a five-year old bundle of flesh, bone and most especially, a coat of thick woolly hair. People see him as a cute fluff-ball of active energy; yet I know that a skinny snarling beast can appear when I start trimming all that hair. And that hair must be trimmed or he would soon become an immobile matted felt-ball.  My ongoing adventures in Gizmo maintenance might be helpful when, or if, you find yourself caring for a similar pet.

 Gizmo is a cross between a silky-haired Maltese and a woolly-haired Poodle. The silky Maltese hair dominates on his legs and belly, while the coat on his back and head more closely resembles that of a young lamb. Unlike short-haired dogs, Gizmo does not shed hair.  Also unlike short-haired dogs, his coat continues to grow absolutely everywhere. If left to grow untrimmed for just a year, his entire body – including face, belly and feet – would be entirely covered with matted hair more than 6 inches long.

Many people with similar dogs entrust them each month to their favourite groomers.  Being a thrifty do-it-myself type, I do the work myself. After buying a few tools, the ongoing cost is negligible.  I have a big pair of dressmaker’s shears which work so much better than cheaply made snips. I keep them beside my favourite television-watching chair. Gizmo jumps in my lap, and when my hands discover a matted lump in his hair I grab the scissors and quickly slice it into pieces. A good brush with steel bristles is also essential. The third essential tool is a set of electric dog clippers.

In the winter he grows a long insulating winter coat. In springtime he is ready for a much shorter haircut. Since the job is easier when he is clean, I give him a bath a day in advance. To be more exact, I wash him with the hand-held shower attachment since he hates standing in a bathtub of water. Baby shampoo works great.

Now to find a good work location: outside wearing shorts on a summer day makes for the easiest cleanup. Standing him on a firm table also helps since he is much quieter and obedient when up off the ground.  I start with the shears and scissor-cut to a rough shape. I keep my fingers in the hair between the blades and his skin. Therefore, if something gets nicked it will be my hands and not him.  I finish with an electric clipper trim. The clippers have plastic guides which can be set to a chosen depth allowing an even cut.

The back is first and then the top of his head. Those are the easy parts. When you get near his face or legs he snarls and snaps. Fortunately for me, Gizmo has never quite figured out that I am the one directing the tools of torture. Instead of biting my fingers he goes for the object in my hand! I let him bite the steel and plastic as much as he wants; he quickly tires of that game. The haircut is an interactive process. It is a time for having both a firm voice and much patience. If he gets too upset as I attack one body part, then I move to another area and later return.

To trim his face, I hold him in my lap with one hand clasping his head firmly against my chest. Holding the big shears sideways so that I they don’t poke anything vital, I clip him close around the eyes and sides of the mouth.

The legs are always a struggle; there I could use an assistant. If I can achieve a rough trim on the legs I am happy. I can always trim some more on another day. Using the clippers without the plastic guides allows me to cut close around his nails and foot pads. The first time I gave Gizmo a haircut, after I had the top all complete, he would not let me near his legs. So he spent several days short on top and quite long down below. He did not seem to mind looking so silly.

Gizmo enjoys the end results even if he hates the process. He would be even more stressed if I left him for a day at the local puppy grooming parlour. I hope this tale of do-it-yourself Gizmo care might provide some useful ideas if you ever take control of a woolly Fifi, Fluffy or Rover.

For hygienic reasons, it is good to keep things fairly short on his belly and under his tail.  The secret is to get ones fingers in under the blades. Delicate doggie bits won’t be accidentally snipped if the barber’s fingers protect them from the cutting blades. This is not the place to be overly squeamish.

Cinnamon the dog

This is the noble Cinnamon. (She was formerly the symbol of this web site). 'Nimmers' was a Maltese / Poodle cross breed dog. She was originally given to my sister while I was still living at home in Vancouver. She ended living with me for many years while I was making an attempt to be a responsible young adult.

Cinnamon was a true friend. There were many times traveling in the seventies when I would have liked to take a bus and stay in a cheap hotel. But with a dog this was difficult to do. We hitchhiked across BC and Alberta many times. There were many nights that she kept my feet warm inside my sleeping bag. I was always afraid that a bear would come along and try to quiet a yapping dog. It was sometimes hard to keep her quiet when she was being protective. 

I have never had children so there have been questions about my ability to handle responsibility; but taking care of a small dog for several years while in my twenties took a lot of commitment. Cinnamon made friends easily. There were many people over the years who told just how much they disliked small yappy dogs. Cinnamon melted hearts though. Some of those same people ask me decades later about her fate. She learned few of the tricks that most people would recognize as such. 

She was smart and was quite capable of thinking on her own. One time in Dome Creek we were crossing the Fraser River railway bridge when a slow moving train snuck up behind us. I had plenty of time to jump off to the side platforms. But I had no time to return for my dog. She was frozen in the middle of the tracks as the train approached. She froze as I yelled at her to get off the tracks. It looked like she was going to be yet another of the many animals that had been killed on that span. At the last moment though, she figured it out and stepped to the side of the tracks and lay down until the train passed. Good old dog! 

She was also great on city streets. I would walk her down the sidewalks of Robson Street in Vancouver without a leash. She would rush back and forth but never cross the street until told. Cinnamon lived a long life and eventually ended her final few years living with my sister in Ontario.