Inside the luxury world of dog wellness — as experienced by one very lucky golden retriever

Los Angeles Times

7 days ago

The Jaguar Supersport, '65 Ford Thunderbird and '73 Alfa Romeo are taken by other clients today, so Dug — an 8-year-old golden retriever — is being chauffeured to the Sunset Strip in a presidential Cadillac stretch limo for his spa treatments. He's headed to Collar & Comb in West Hollywood, where he'll be getting a blueberry facial and exfoliating mud mask from the same professionals who groom the mutts of Gwyneth Paltrow, Mark Wahlberg and Dakota Johnson.
Dug sits upright on the limo's black Corinthian leather seat, flanked by crystal liquor decanters on one side and a TV and VCR on the other. He gazes out the window, tongue hanging out excitedly, as the spiky palm trees whiz by. Then he flops down and chomps on a stuffed Chewy Vuiton Paris bone toy.
Such is the world of dog wellness in Los Angeles. The goal? 'Heal.'
Wellness for dogs is a niche industry that mirrors the spectrum of wellness treatments for humans. As with humans, it swings from the relaxing and rejuvenating to the dubious. Vet-affiliated treatments include acupuncture, hydrotherapy and chiropractic care. Nutrition is its own subculture that includes raw and organic food, supplements and Western and Chinese herbal remedies. On the pampering end, dog spas and private practitioners offer massage, reiki meditation, inflammation-fighting red light therapy and skin and nail treatments, such as deluxe 'pawdicures.' Fido feeling anxious? Try forest bathing or see a pet psychic.
Human-centric wellness for dogs is 'at a high point,' says 'Pet Buzz' radio show co-host, Charlotte Reed. One reason: As vet bills rise, there's been a greater focus on preventative care in recent years — although such preventative wellness is expensive, too. Also, as self-care for humans becomes more popular, there are simply more wellness products and services being developed for dogs. And an increasing number of pet owners now view their dogs as children, Reed says. A New York court recently ruled that dogs can be legally recognized as immediate family members in the state.
'People are worried about the world. So a lot of people are not having children — and they're treating their dogs like kids,' Reed says. 'Dogs — like kids — are a reflection of your lifestyle. If you're into health and wellness, that's what you want your dog to be into.'
At the same time, warns American Kennel Club chief veterinarian Dr. Jerry Klein, pet owners must be careful not to project human desires onto animals that, at best, don't share the same tastes.
'A lot of this stuff, it's geared to the humans. But what we derive pleasure and relaxation from might create the opposite for a dog that might not want to be touched or handled. People should get their vet's opinion, always, before doing anything that might affect the dog's health.'
I enlisted Dug — a wellness newbie whom I've known for years as his owners, Jeff and Lisa Alulis, are friends — to undergo a week of pampering in L.A. in order to explore some of the dog wellness treatments available.
Dug is a happy-go-lucky guy. But he had a rough puppyhood, having been abandoned at a shelter where he suffered distemper, a viral disease and heartworm before being adopted. Perhaps because of that, he has nightmares, during which he kicks his feet and yelps. Could a relaxing sound bath help? It was worth a shot.
Victorious Solomon greeted us at Den Urban Dog Retreat in a man bun and T-shirt that reads 'meditate with your dog.' The 10,000-square-foot space in Cypress Park, which Solomon owns with Lindsay Velez, is a dog 'wellness campus' — Canyon Ranch for canines — that includes holistic grooming, daycare, hikes and spa services such as massage, aromatherapy, reiki, animal communication and crystal therapy. It also hosts workshops and social events for pups and their humans: Think coffee, DJs and dogs.
Solomon led us to a low-lit event space that featured a wall-length mural of a forest accentuated by flickering candles and swinging macramé chairs. About 20 dogs lay on yoga mats with their owners or they milled about the room as the free 'relaxation concert' began, the sounds of crystal quartz and Tibetan brass bowls commingling with intermittent barking.
Sound healer Crystal Cao says she configured the event for canines: It was only 30 minutes long due to their attention spans (no distracting squirrels within eyeshot, but still) and she played 'lower, primal, base tones to keep them calm and centered.' But every time she swayed the ocean drum, filled with beads that mimicked the sound of rain, Dug got up to explore, standing in front of it, head cocked to the side.
Eventually, like most other dogs there, Dug took a cue from his humans and relaxed on his mat as they stroked his fur. He left the sound bath seemingly relaxed, per usual. But the nightmares persisted.
Would his owners bring him back? Absolutely — if just for the dog social hour that took place in the yard beforehand.
Dug is up for nearly any water adventure. But walking on a treadmill, in a glass tank filled with water at chest level was new to him — and admittedly a little scary at first. But the folks at Buddy: Canine Wellness in Studio City were so patient he got through it. (Plus, the spa-like lobby featured soothing, scented candles and a jar of milk bone treats.)
Buddy isn't affiliated with a veterinary practice. It doesn't diagnose or prescribe but focuses, instead, on preventive health through fitness and recreation. In private sessions, dogs perform strength building and cardio workouts on an underwater treadmill or in a small swimming pool heated to 85 degrees, supposedly to aid blood circulation. (The initial hourlong visit is $250 with fitness assessment; then it's $100 for 30-45 minutes.) The workouts are zero- or low-impact and easy on the joints, so suited for older dogs or those with arthritis or recovering from injuries.
Dug is in excellent health. So he visited Buddy for recreation — several clients come to burn off energy when it's too hot to walk outdoors. Dug donned a life jacket in the pool and treaded around in the water, chasing a ball as co-owner Jazz Pritchard led him around in circles on a leash. Dug's head is so massive that, with the rest of his body mostly underwater, he resembled a blond, furry Hippo cutting through the water's surface.
If the goal was to tire Dug out, it was met: He slept soundly when he got home. But still: nightmares.
Reiki for humans is a Japanese energy-healing modality that, practitioners say, aids relaxation, pain relief and overall health by realigning the body's energy centers, or 'chakras.' For dogs, it looks like a gentle petting session.
Reiki practitioner Stacey Gong worked on Dug for 30 minutes as he laid on the grass, seaside, at Miramar Park in Redondo Beach. Gong works for Tailwagger's Massage & Hydrofitness, which also offers restorative and sports massages as well as inflammation-fighting cold laser therapy, among other services. Dug gazed out at the ocean through the Torrey pine trees, as Gong smoothed his fur and gently ran her fingers along his spine. She softly squeezed his hip muscles, then caressed his midsection, shoulders and neck. Dug flipped onto his back, all four paws stretched out wide — Reiki was not so bad!
'His chakras are in pretty good shape,' Gong said afterward, as she applied a series of five essential oil blends specially created for animals. But his third eye chakra, she added, was slow.
'It's swinging in the right direction, but we made it faster, so everything will be in concert,' she said. 'And the dreams — I don't think they're bad. It's more like he's chasing bunnies.'
With his chakras aligned, the wind rippling his thick blond fur and smelling of pungent, earthy oregano oil, Dug stood up, panting merrily, and stared directly into the L.A. Times photographer's lens, as if posing. Now on his third day out, Dug seemed to be feeling confident, more familiar with the camera that trailed him, even seeming to court it at times. Was Dug a wellness influencer in the making?
If so, Dug already has nearly 4,000 followers on Instagram. Photos of Reiki, seaside — a quintessential L.A. experience — stand to boost that number. But if nothing else, the $150 Reiki session was not a bad way to spend a Dog Day Afternoon.
Dug hopped out of the limo at Collar & Comb (the same limo featured in the 1988 movie 'Twins,' starring Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito) and — like any aspiring wellness influencer — posed for photos, snout in the air, in front of the luxury, members-only grooming and wellness salon. It was a feast of scents inside: gourmet chicken feet treats! New plushie toys! Fresh mint leaves and aloe vera for his upcoming facial!
Collar & Comb is a canine luxury ecosystem, with three social houses for dogs and their humans, three grooming salons and four private dog parks, not to mention a fleet of high-end vehicles to transport four-legged clients. And Dug got the true VIP treatment. He was whisked into a soundproof 'spa suite,' where the founder, Paul Leonard, and master stylist, Yanko Hernandez, prepared the ingredients for his treatments. They swirled hand-muddled blueberries and raw honey into organic, sugar-free yogurt for his facial; they stirred exfoliating Japanese volcanic sand into mineral-rich Korean mud for his hydrating mask.
In his pursuit of perfection, Leonard barked orders to his staff with all the intensity of an ER doctor in an episode of 'The Pitt': 'Towels!' he yelled. (They appeared within seconds.) 'Comb!' (Same.)
Dug took it all in stride, seemingly enjoying the two sets of hands rubbing the fragrant food into his face. He even managed to sneak in a lick, tasting the yogurt.
Meanwhile, Dug's dad was treated to a plush bathrobe and champagne while relaxing in a massage chair as a mix of lo-fi jazz and jungle rock played on the sound system. He watched Dug getting pampered through the glass wall.
Dug was blown dry and finished off with a hotel-grade, organic cotton towel, rubbed with nourishing paw-balm and spritzed with 'show dog' scent cologne. He didn't join Collar & Comb given the $75 monthly dues minimum (which doesn't include the cost of treatments), but he memorialized the experience with another round of photos, this time posing with an enormous cow knee bone in-mouth, a final treat to top off the indulgent day.
Dug may have enjoyed his afternoon with William Riddle, a certified canine masseuse, the most. For one, Riddle's Doggissage is mobile, traveling through parts of Orange County and Los Angeles. So Dug got to relax in the comfort of his own backyard during his deep tissue massage. And the $50 hourlong massage was essentially a vigorous petting session, though different than the Reiki he'd experienced. Riddle applied increasing degrees of pressure, gently loosening up Dug's muscles at first, and stimulating circulation, before going deeper.
Dug stretched out on a blanket by the swimming pool, a fountain trickling nearby. Riddle noticed that, like many dogs, Dug's neck area was tight — dogs put 60% of their weight on their front legs, stressing their necks, Riddle explained — and so he spent more time massaging that area. Fine by Dug! Riddle performed somatics on Dug, slowly and smoothly moving his limbs to supposedly refine brain-muscle connection. Fine by Dug! Riddle even used a small metal tool that looked like a comb to help relieve tension. It was like being brushed. Also fine — two paws up!
Riddle performs canine massage for both relaxation and rehabilitation — he says that it relieves muscle tension and stress, increases blood flow and mobility and may ease pain from arthritis. But he strongly recommends discussing it with a veterinarian first.
Dug ended his massage with a beef stick treat — he'd have his new best friend back to the house any day!
Social connection is a key tenant of wellness. So Dug ended his week at Dog PPL, a private, members-only dog park in Santa Monica with a staff of eerily beautiful people. It's like Soho House for pups. For $120 per month, members can visit as often as they'd like. Pet owners must submit vet and vaccine records and dogs undergo a 'temperament test' before being accepted. The fake grass-laden park is also monitored by 'rufferees,' who are trained in canine safety and behavior.
It's as much a community for humans, with a cafe and bar (cocktail of the day: muddled hibiscus margarita) and high-speed Wi-Fi so dog owners can work from the park while their pets play off-leash. Events include fitness classes and trivia nights.
Dug trotted in, gleaming from his facial and relaxed from his massage, and immediately made new friends. After stopping at the amenities table for fresh water, towels and doggie sunscreen, Dug tussled with another golden retriever, Bubbles, who was wearing a Goyard collar from Paris. But ultimately, she was too expensive for his taste.
Then he bonded with a German shepherd named Gino — the most popular guy in the park. Dug was part of the in crowd! Soon they were a threesome, with a Goldendoodle named Harry.
(Dog park gossip: Harry had a crush on Gino too and that stirred tensions between him and Dug.)
No matter: The visit was thoroughly enjoyable, the perfect way to cap off a week of wellness in Los Angeles.