Sweet-Talk, Suds and All the Milk-Bones You Can Eat

It’s Sunday afternoon and Randy Briggs swings open the door to the Dogromat in Venice and yells to anyone who’ll listen: “It’s that time again!”

Yes, it’s bath-and-fur-foufing time, a weekly ritual carried out at the BYOD (Bring Your Own Dog) self-laundering facility that serves “cats too.” And Briggs, 47, is about to indulge Sheba, “just like the queen,” he says.

The black dog bounds into the place like it’s old home week, greeting owner Katherine Wooten and manager Jaime Morgan, grinning, panting, doing a full body shakedown.

“Hello, Sheba,” Morgan chimes.

Elsie, Delores Del Rio and Roger--the trio of goodwill ambassador canines that belong to Wooten--are napping. They can’t be bothered.

This is doggie central, where even dirty, stinky, flea-ridden canines are welcome.

Everything is dog-friendly. No uptight Angelenos ripping your head off if your pooch is off a leash. And, if no other canines are there, your dog can have the run of the place. What Chuck E. Cheese is to children, this place is to dogs.

That’s why Briggs comes across town from South-Central Los Angeles and pays 10 bucks to simply wash his dog, a stray he rescued.

Briggs hoists Sheba into the waist-high sink and ties her to a hook. A red plastic apron festooned with Dalmatians hangs nearby, ‘cause let’s face it, dogs shake when they’re wet.

An all-you-can-eat Milk-Bonepolicy is signaled by the stock of biscuits set by each bathing area.

“It’s bath time, baby,” Briggs purrs to Sheba, dousing her with warm water and soaping her up. “Doesn’t that feel good? Ah, yeah.”

Briggs scrubs to the beat of Jimi Hendrix’s “Are You Experienced?” She looks to be near doggie nirvana, neck outstretched, nose pointed up, back bowed. He rinses her off, massaging the suds out. Sheba shakes.

Once Sheba’s ears are clean, he mists her with “sweet stuff,” a purple-colored perfume, and blow-dries her curls so they defy gravity.

Over the sink wall, Wooten is hard at work grooming a Benji look-alike. She bought the Dogromat a year and a half ago “so I could be with my animals. They are what makes me get up in the morning.”

Caitie and Peggy, two Corgis, seem a little less interested in the bathing ritual. Corralled in a chain-link bathing stall, Sally Armstrong stands over her charges as they angle for an escape.

“You like it don’t you,” she coos to Caitie and Peggy; they look unconvinced.

“They get better care than I do,” says Armstrong, a Brit who lives in Venice. “They get their shampoo and conditioner, their blow-dry, the treats. If I don’t use creme rinse on Caitie, her hair sticks up and she looks like a hedgehog.”

With a heavy dose of sweet-talk, conditioners, and anti-allergy solution (Armstrong’s roommate is allergic), the dogs are de-stinkified. Ready to leave, Armstrong seat-belts her pets with special harnesses and pops a couple of biscuits into their mouths. “I believe in their right (to be protected),” she says.

For those who are more than casual pet owners, the dog wash also doubles as an educational forum.

Later that afternoon, die-hards turn out for a free seminar by Joel Hyman, billed as a “master herbalist” who prescribes “medicinal herbal remedies for people and pets.” About a dozen people wait, reading “Muttmatchers Messenger” or “Animal Press.” One woman has brought her dog.

Hyman’s topics range from herbal anti-flea remedies to giving pets purified drinking water (“Do you drink out of the tap?” he asks). He raises concerns when he warns about canned food, which he characterizes as doggy junk food.

“I am sorry, “ Theresa Raph whispers to her poodle, which apparently has had its share canned food.

“You are what you eat applies to animals too,” says Hyman, who reads pet food labels for emphasis. Then, “Have you ever smelled a can of dog food? All I can say is: Would you eat it?”

Heads shake in unison. Eyebrows knit into frowns--a natural reaction when you think of canned-food smell.

Instead, he says, dogs should be eating foods that will give them optimum health and, well, even less flatulence. He advises a combination of fresh rice, lamb, steamed vegetables, grains, meats and fruits.

“The lifestyle I would like,” Raph mutters to her white poodle; he is unmoved.

The seminar ends and people talk about their pets. One woman has an arthritic sheltie that she wants to treat naturally and another woman has a dog that incessantly scratches but is flealess.

Then, someone plucks up to ask that universal question about one of life’s great mysteries.

“Why do dogs like to eat horse manure and other, you know. . .,” Shirley Mandell asks with a wince.

“I don’t really know, maybe because they are not being nourished properly,” Hyman guesses. A veterinarian in the group agrees that this behavior is pretty much inexplicable.

“Oh God, don’t you ever do that, “ Raph warns her poodle.

“Well, can I give him a mouthwash?” she asks.

“But of course,” Hyman says.