Shaving Jack

Since the temps are climbing nearly to 100F now, I decided it was time to shave Jack down. This is a biyearly undertaking, once in May and again in late July, and it's an all day affair to remove the matted, cocklebur infested pelt that encases him. I've gotten into countless arguments with Pyr purists who insist this breed does not need shearing, but to them I say, piss off. Until they've had one running amok in the west Texas brush for a few years, they don't know jack. Or in this case, Jack. Originally I had wanted something with short hair, like an Anatolian or Akbash, but Jack was given to me 6 years ago as a pup and I wasn't going to quibble about hair on a free dog.

Last summer I passed on the $100 grooming visit and just bought a pair of $25 clippers at ChinaMart. I viewed these clippers as a disposable item, because no one would expect them to survive more than one shave down. They did a pretty good job, but as expected, did not last long enough for a repeat shave. This time, I borrowed a friend's clippers to do the deed.

I should have known better.

Normally you'd bathe the dog prior to letting the blades anywhere near them, but Jack's coat forms an impenetrable barrier once it mats up, and any attempt to get him clean is futile. He's actually 1/4 Kommodor, which I suspect is why his coat dreadlocks if left unattended for more than a few days. This meant I had to clip him dirty, and calling Jack dirty is calling Scientologists misguided. He was filthy, and before I had even gotten his hips cleared off, the clippers dulled to the point of uselessness.

That left me with scissors, and dull ones at that. Only the very tips would cut, so through the matted mess I went, snip snip snip a few hairs at a time. Chunk by disgusting chunk came away, held together by thousands of fuzzy little burrs. Fine white hair was everywhere, in the air, covering my clothes, wrapping around my teeth. It seemed as if for every hair I cut, twenty more appeared on me. Jack was fairly stoic about the ordeal, until I got to his butt. This led to a half hour of him trying to sit down, and me trying to make him stand up so I could clip the dingleberries free. Gross. Working my way down his tail proved nerve wracking, since he'd broken the very tip years ago and now it's crooked end was buried deeply in the middle of everything. Eventually I got around the tip and peeled the pelt off like a filthy fur muff.

Three hours later, and still only 1/4 of the way through, I let Jack loose, and leaned back to survey the disaster on my porch. Huge piles of hair lay in drifts against the door, and coated my flowerbeds. It looked as if I'd clipped twenty dogs, but Jack hardly looked touched save the one spot on his hip where the clippers worked.

Guess I will buy another $25 set of clippers tomorrow and try to finish the job.