The Ayelet Waldman of poodle owners

Before I gave any particular thought to poodles, I assumed that they could either be topiaried - which they probably wouldn't appreciate - or left like normal dogs. Leonard Lopate said something along those lines in a recent show about Westminster, and I suspect this is what the uninitiated typically imagine. Once knowing I would be getting a poodle, I imagined I'd want it to be fluffy, messy, and scraggly-looking, like the various bichons, poodles, and mutts of Paris. Not filthy or neglected, but not overly-shorn. Little, so little, did I know.

Poodle fur (technically "hair") - or at least this poodle's fur - is a mix of incredibly kinky and incredibly fine, combining in a way that one rarely sees on humans, and that is at any rate quite unlike my own thick, frizz-prone hair. We'd been going about our business, brushing Bisou a few times a week, not the once a day the breeder had recommended, but not thinking much of it, and being not so diligent about the post-brushing combing sessions. The breeder had also recommended weekly baths for a poodle, which seemed to be far more than any other source advised, and I figured the brushing advice, like the washing advice, was for poodles with more glamorous existences than romps through the woods. And the vet had advised daily canine tooth-brushing. And the trainer had advised, in addition to her daily walks, "running" her for a long time with a frisbee, something that would go much more smoothly if she'd learn "fetch." It had begun to seem that if we followed all the necessary upkeep for both Bisou and ourselves, that would well fill 24 hours, seven days a week.

But her fur just kept expanding. We kept thinking that some week when we took her to obedience class, we'd also get her groomed again, but week after week, other activities (including poodle-maintenance-related) got in the way.

All was well until I started to notice mats. The way poodle fur works, these form almost at the skin, and you don't see it happening, and you can even near-fully brush out the poodle, have this amazingly fluffy beast, and underneath, bad news. The mats don't feel all that different from skin, so you can think you're doing everything right, and yet.

All of a sudden, I felt myself going from a reliable dog co-owner - two or three long walks plus more going out each day, obedience class, toys, treats, cuddling, playing, reusable produce bags as well as a purchased supply just in case, everything medically sorted, and a not insubstantial if ultimately inadequate amount of brushing - to an utter failure at dog-rearing.

In a desperate attempt to get the brush through Bisou's hair, I cut out some mats, brushed more thoroughly, yet kept finding more places I couldn't get the brush through. So off to the groomer, and off - unsurprisingly - with a good amount of Bisou's fluff. The matts weren't that impressive, as the poodle beneath was just fine, but still, to be avoided.

Very much in a never-again frame of mind, I have already twice brushed out the results of yesterday's shearing extravaganza. She will not tangle! But there wasn't much to detangle, just the puffs of her head and tail, and a lot of "brushing" where the fur is very short, so she's used to the comb-against-skin sensation. The comb, it seems, is essential. As is the regular grooming. I may not have been to a hair salon since August, but I'm not a poodle, so no harm done.

Bisou now looks remarkably like the first Google Image hit for "lamb," which is going to put a damper on the one dish that stands between me and lacto-ovo vegetarianism.