I've recently returned to a trade I had once considered a thing of the past: grooming dogs. While I hope the return won't last longer than a few months, the onset of anal gland fluid squirting onto my wrist each day and returning home covered in hair and slobber has proven...fucking shitty. Things about dog grooming aren't all bad though, especially since I work all alone in a shop and have the freedom to plug my ears with headphones while I put a Lamb clip on a Standard Poodle or shave down a giant Golden Retriever. Dogs make exceptional co-workers and stripping a Schnauzer to the sounds of The Strokes is loads better than, say, a job where I have to wear a skirt and pay attention.


The real reward in dog grooming is not the look on a client's face when they pick up Guss or Molly or Rocky after I spent three hours dematting their tail, but the sheer satisfaction I feel when skipping to a new playlist on my iPod and knowing that by the time this album is over the day will end, the dogs will all look pretty, and I can go the fuck home.