Much ado about fur

By Fred Slenzo, the author's dog, who has become part of 'Spavalous.'


It's a perfect day to venture outside for a spa treatment. The weather is a little chilly, in the low '60s, and my master, who is the sole recipient of my unconditional love, is driving me to my first spa treatment. I sit in my turquoise basket, the one with the Hawaiian-flowered lining.

We arrive at a flat-roofed building, with a sign on top that, if I could read, I would be able to tell says "A Dog's Best Friend."

Sounds inviting.

Once my master realizes I am urine-challenged among the sparse amount of weeds growing in the crevices between the building and the paved parking lot, I am leash-led into a plethora of scents and sights of what was soon to become my paradise.

Although I'm not a bloodhound, I quickly pick up a bunny scent just past the counter.

Why a bunny in a dog spa?

The owner, Patricia, has such a loving heart for four-legged creatures that when someone found an abandoned rabbit at a nearby amusement park, Salem Willows, she took "Willow" under her wing.

Looking past Willow, there was a room with a few canine friends. Ann, the cocker spaniel, is receiving a bath, while Linda, another spaniel in her golden years, is getting a fur cut.

I'm beginning to understand why I'm here.

Above me is a counter, filled with Marabou fur-embellished collars for sale. In addition, various articles of decorated clothing are on side tables against the wall. Patricia's mom, who lives in Florida, hand decorates dog-related accessories and clothing and sends them to her to sell.
All of a sudden, a treat lands in front of my paws.

"The Hilton dog has nothing on you," says Patricia, who scoops me into her arms.

I love this place and just know she and I will soon be cuddling up together.

But instead of cuddling, I'm set on a table that escalates to Patricia's waist, five times higher than I stand tall. And she's locking a collar around my neck.

Wait! Is that a jar of treats?

Hey, it's a cotton ball, and I'm getting my ears cleaned. But I wonder, can I eat the cotton?

As I look down on the black table, I notice my fawn-colored fur has shed all over the place. I'm so embarrassed!

Before I can turn a shade of red, my paws are being lifted, one by one, and my nails get clipped.
"My little worm," says Patricia of my wiggling technique.

With my tail between my legs, all I can do is listen to Patricia's co-worker Linda, who is talking me through the clipping. My back leg is raised and I can now feel my nails being filed. I'm staying still for this one.

I tell myself to focus on something. Ah, the paw-print tattoo on the inside of Patricia's forearm. Bow-wow. She really loves dogs in a permanent way.

I hear the word FURminator being used while I am whisked off the table and into a high-rise tub. Melonball Madori aromatherapy bath. Smells tasty. This is a luxury shampoo before my FURmination, whatever that is.

Is that the disco beat of music I hear in the background?

My tail sure is wagging now. I can't seem to taste the melon ball, but this tub is warm and sudsy.
What's this? Another treat?

The BathPro 2000 is massaging me while cleaning me! It tastes good, too.

Oops. Gotta shake.

Patricia's nails are digging in for my massage treatment, and I can't seem to get enough until suddenly, I feel a squeeze on my bottom.

Oh growl! I didn't expect a bonus treatment!

Pinchy, but quick.

Oops. Another shake before I get the FURminator treatment and a de-shedding solution. This is supposed to reduce the fur loss, so we'll see.

At least the treatment tastes good!

I can't lick fast enough before I'm rinsed off and towel dried; no high velocity blower for me. I'm too petite, I'm told.

After all this luxury treatment, I end up in a cage with an attached dryer ventilation tube blowing warm air my way.

I become very nervous and call for my master, but Patricia grabs me instead.

Oh, how nice. While I am placed on the black table again, I get a final blow dry, followed by a bowl of water that Patricia says will hydrate me after my treatment. And she says it's refrigerated spring water because, "Everyone likes cool water, you know!"

I find myself continuously trying to taste the smells in the air, especially the finishing spray Patricia says is Hugo Boss.

As I contemplate my situation, Patricia's experienced massage hands offer me one last rub before my comb through.

What! Still shedding! I'm horrified.

Patricia explains to my master, as if I'm not in the room listening, that the FURminator tool will help with the shedding, but I don't have much of an undercoat.

I walk out of "A Dog's Best Friend" wearing a red bandana with luminescent sequins that later turn out to be great chew toys.

Plus, I smell so good that everyone I run into that day smells my back.

Spa treatments for dogs are a great idea, and although the old adage is that a dog is man's best friend, I've had the best treatments from the women in my life.