Beware the Hundesalon!

There's an apparent inequity in hair growth rate between the boys and girls in our family. Everyone received a haircut in Chicago immediately before our departure almost eight weeks ago (clarification: all different barbers) yet only the boys have required Swiss haircuts so far. And since usually mundane tasks like haircuts now transform into exciting new challenges, we've been anxiously anticipating Hobbes's first Swiss grooming.

The landlady Ms. D made our appointment two weeks ago, right after an unfortunate "incident". You see, one morning I was sitting on the bed, leaning over and tying my boots preparing for Hobbes's and my customary 75 minute jaunt. And Hobbes got excited because he knows he's going for a walk, so he ran up with his body between my legs near my head, and his odor was so terrifically terrible that I blacked out and collapsed and woke up 2 minutes later on the bedroom floor when he started impatiently licking my face because we weren't outside yet. His breath actually shocked me back to consciousness like smelling salts, but I won't dwell on those details. Needless to say, immediately after the walk I rang and asked Ms. D to please help locate a groomer.

Of course Steph and I already tried to locate one by Googling the English phrase "Zurich dog groomer," but only groomers near Lake Zurich, IL (so close to home!) showed up. Ms. D of course divined the magic words in German instead, either Tierecoiffure ("animal haircut") or Hundesalon ("salon for dogs"). Try Googling "Zurich hundesalon," now that's a goldmine! Actually, because nobody living in Kloten likes going to Zürich (thus they live in Kloten, yes?), she found a hinterland Hundesalon in a tiny village called Breite. Now when a Kloten resident calls something a village, expect a real village--perhaps two dozen houses and a pub on a hilltop somewhere with more livestock than humans.

So Ms. D found and called a groomer and reported back to me, albeit with a few confusing iterations required to iron out questions about washing vs. actual haircutting (both, please!) and some concerns with hefting his healthy 40kg (88 lb.) girth. Regardless, despite the salon's tight schedule, we successfully booked an appointment for two weeks out...Tuesday, Dec. 18 at 1pm. Very exciting! And after examining the tricky bus connections required to go from Kloten to Breite, Ms. D first offered and later insisted that she drive us instead. As the Germans say, Gott sei Dank!, thank God for that!

Tuesday at 12:30pm we bustled His Smelliness into the back seat of Ms. D's car and wound uphill away from Zürich through smaller and smaller towns, nearly driving past Breite fifteen minutes later. Because Swiss are always on time for appointments--never early and never late--we spent ten more minutes examining some interesting farmland on the Breite hilltop in bitingly cold wind (Hobbes enjoyed it). Then we struggled to find any semblance of a business near the address provided, eventually guided by a worn, 5-foot-tall cartoon dog & cat chalkboard half-hidden behind a tree and guttural directions from an extremely elderly neighbor (this was the groomer's mother, I came to find) to some nearby house's basement stairs. We knocked on the basement door and...voila!

The Hundesalon was less of a business than a woman's hobby. The basement contained all the required but somewhat rudimentary equipment, and certainly not an overly professional atmosphere. The groomer lady probably needed the two week warning to fix the jack on her ancient grooming table. She and Ms. D, speaking exclusively in Swiss-German of course, appeared not to hit it off and I later discovered why. Practically the groomer's first words to us were, "He's too fat! We can't do it!" (the woman feared lifting him due to her bad back). Ms. D said later that this really pissed her off because, I quote, "Nobody calls my Hobbes fat!" He has this effect on people, it's inexplicable. The groomer apparently also said she owns two large dogs but never grooms them...ever. Um, OK. That's why you groom other people's dogs then?

Too late to turn back, so I helped lift him into the tub and we waited throughout the entire shampooing and rinsing for me to assist lifting him out and onto the grooming table (I've never actually seen him bathed before, he hates the shampoo but likes the warm rinse). She handled him well enough and spoke lots of cutesy Swiss-German dog-talk, so I felt comfortable enough to leave him for the two hour (lotsa hair) air-drying and grooming. Ms. D and I walked the 30 steps downtown to Breite's only pub, killing two hours with lots of interesting conversation interspersed with various espressos, dry cider and some fantastic sandwiches on crusty country bread with delicious country ham. Those Swiss country folks make a mean sandwich!

We returned after exactly two hours to find her finishing up, with at least 20kg of hair in the corner (she kept it there to show us...professional?). She did an OK job, like a hobbyist would, not terrible. Also Ms. D had told me at the pub that she didn't trust the shampoo the woman used because it didn't bubble, so immediately after walking in the door Ms. D made a show of bending over and smothering her nose in his fur, verifying he truly smelled clean (I can't make this up!). After a few additional minutes of presumably polite verbal sparring between the Swiss-German ladies, they wound down and I paid the WHOPPING fee (although Steph and I had each individually guessed it to the exact Franc) and we bid Auf Wiedersehen to both the Hundesalon and Breite. A grooming always wipes out Hobbes, but this Hundesalon seemed to wear on him a bit more, as he slept virtually nonstop for two days. Ms. D apologized profusely for taking us there (of course she was completely innocent and we couldn't have accomplished ANYTHING without her). But needless to say, Hobbes's next appointment with be with a Big City Hundesalon, I'm sure I can find a decent sandwich while I wait.