‘Rachel, if you would give me a hand to check all of the unclaimed dogs for injuries and microchips, that would be great.’
‘If only Hector had a microchip,’ sighs Chelsea.
‘Or a collar,’ I say.
We both look through the cage at Hector. He stands and wags his tail at us hopefully. I wonder if anyone has ever loved him at all.
Chelsea and I start moving the dogs with pegs on their cages. We can’t help giving them a quick cuddle as we move each of them into their new pens.
‘You’re going home,’ says Chelsea, hugging a fluffy little white dog that wriggles in her arms. ‘Yes, you are! Yes, you are!’
A big black labrador with a fancy blue collar with a silver tag that says ‘Gus’ is next. It takes both of us ages to get Gus to go into his pen and then he’s halfway out again before we can shut the gate. I’m about to call out to Paul to help us but then I see he and Mum are busy with a big spotty Dalmatian in the far pen.
‘I’ve got an idea,’ says Chelsea, and she runs to the feed area and grabs a bowl of pellets. ‘Maybe this will tempt him.’
‘No wonder you’re nearly a world-famous animal trainer and groomer,’ I laugh, as Gus obediently follows Chelsea into his pen and starts to wolf down his food.
A sausage dog is next, then a poodle, then a dog that looks like a mix of ten breeds.
At last all of the claimed dogs have been moved. We bring bowls of food and water and a soft blanket for each one. Some of the little dogs don’t want to eat but Paul says not to worry because their owners will be here soon.
Next Chelsea and I turn our attention to the six dogs that need bathing. Paul has a very large bathing area that has a showerhead on a hose and a big tub.
‘This beats our bathroom,’ I whisper to Chelsea and we both laugh.
Chelsea and I decide that I’ll bring her the dogs after I’ve given them a quick check-up and then she’ll bath them. After their bath I’ll dry them off and give them food and water and clean bedding.
Our first dog is an Australian terrier. He’s a solid little thing with stringy brown and black fur that’s covered in mud and burrs. Apart from this he seems fine, so I bring him in for a bath. Chelsea is wearing white and I grimace as I hand her the muddy, wet dog.
In no time at all Chelsea has him looking super clean and passes him back to me wrapped in a towel. She really does have a talent for washing dogs. I pass her the next dog and take the terrier back for drying and feeding. Our system works very well and in no time at all we have four very clean dogs.
Next up is a dog that looks like a border collie crossed with something else. It’s sitting very quietly in the corner. When I clip on the lead he pulls against it.
‘It’s all right,’ I say, patting him gently. ‘We won’t hurt you.’
I notice he’s shaking and holding up his paw. When I take a closer look I can see he’s caught his dew claw on something and it’s bleeding and hanging off.
I grab my Vet Diary and turn back to the page on dew claws to remind myself of what needs to be done. (Mum told me about them once.)
When I find Mum she is running the microchip scanner over a big dog while Paul holds the dog steady.
‘Mum, one of the dogs has ripped its dew claw and it’s bleeding pretty badly. I think it might need surgery.’
‘Oh, okay,’ says Mum. ‘I’ll come right away.’
Paul looks at me and nods. I can see he is impressed that I know what a dew claw is, but then again every vet would.
‘You’re right, Juliet. This little guy needs surgery to fix that claw,’ says Mum, gently stroking the dog. ‘He’ll have to come back with me so it’s done properly. We’ll need to bandage his paw up for now. My emergency kit’s in the boot of the car, but I know I’m short of bandages. I meant to get some more yesterday.’
‘Don’t worry, Mum,’ I say. ‘I’ve got heaps.’ I snap open my vet kit and hold up three bandages of different sizes.
‘I’m so lucky you’re nearly a vet,’ says Mum, smiling. ‘But that also explains where all my bandages have gone!’
We watch while Mum bandages the dog’s paw and then she takes it to a pen to have a rest until it’s time to go.
I look over at Chelsea who has found an apron from somewhere and still looks incredibly clean and tidy. I haven’t washed a dog all day and my clothes are covered in dog hair and spots of mud. How does she do it?
‘This is the last one,’ I say, passing her a little black ball of fluff with sad eyes. He is shaking all over and obviously doesn’t like baths.
‘Come on now,’ says Chelsea. ‘It’s nice and warm and we won’t hurt you.’
‘I might have to hold him,’ I say, as the dog leaps around in the tub. When he’s wet he looks like a drowned rat and he’s really hard to hold still. At one stage he tries to leap out of the bath and knocks the hose out of Chelsea’s hands. Water sprays straight into my face.
‘Oops!’ says Chelsea. ‘Sorry!’
Both the dog and I are sopping wet, but we’re also a lot cleaner.
I look back down at our list to see what’s next. There are a lot of jobs I can tick off.
‘Time to take them for a walk,’ says Chelsea.
‘It’ll be good for them to dry off,’ I say. ‘And me!’
We go and see how Mum and Paul are going.
Everything looks more orderly now.
‘Thank goodness for microchips,’ says Paul. ‘Nineteen out of the twenty-eight dogs have homes we can find. I have all the microchip numbers so I’ll get their details online and start contacting the owners.’
The dogs have stopped barking and Paul looks much more relaxed than he did this morning. ‘You guys have done an amazing job. I could never have done it on my own. Thank you so much,’ he says.
‘I’ll pop back to my surgery with the dog that needs the dew claw removed. It can stay there overnight,’ says Mum.
‘Is it okay if we take the lost dogs for a short walk to dry them off?’ I ask. ‘You never know, someone might recognise one of them.’
‘It’s fine by me,’ says Paul. ‘That would be a great help.’
‘How about you just walk them to the end of this street and back?’ says Mum. ‘And don’t take too many at once. I’ll come back for you in about two hours.’
Chelsea and I choose two dogs each for the first trip. I choose the fat labrador and Hector, and Chelsea chooses the little terrier and the black fluffy dog.
Before we leave, Chelsea puts a few finishing touches on them. Each dog is brushed and styled and given a different-coloured bow to wear around its neck. No wonder Chelsea’s nearly world-famous, those dogs look fantastic.
We head off down the street with our flash-looking pooches. It’s quite tricky keeping them all together because they all want to sniff and wee on everything. Luckily we don’t have to walk far until we come to a bowls club.
There are heaps of people there. They can’t help but stop to admire the dogs. Hector’s very happy to meet them all. He wags his tail and circles around them. He gets the most pats because he just loves people. The labrador just wants to sniff their pockets for food.
‘Oh, I do miss having a little dog,’ says one old lady, bending down to scoop up Chelsea’s little black ball of fur. ‘We’re not allowed to have dogs in the retirement home where I live.’
‘They’re all lost. We have to try to find their homes,’ says Chelsea.
‘And if they don’t have homes, we need to find them new ones,’ I add.
‘They seem like nice dogs. It’s a pity they’re lost,’ says an old man. ‘Do you girls work at the lost dogs’ home?’
‘No, we’re just helping out today. We’re on school holidays, but we have to go back to school in a week.’ I let out a sigh.
We eventually get the dogs past the bowls club and walk them up to the corner and back. There are more people waiting to say hello to us on the return trip. The dogs love the attention and it seems the older people love gi
ving it. They’re all laughing and patting the dogs and telling stories about the pets they once owned.
They’re even more excited when we say we’ll be bringing another lot.
When we get back to Paul there are three cars parked outside the lost dogs’ home and lots of happy people at the front desk. They must have been very worried. I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose Curly.
We don’t want to disturb Paul when he’s so busy, so we swap the dogs over and start to groom the next four.
This time I have the large spotty Dalmatian and a smaller shaggy dog and Chelsea has a sausage dog and a poodle. We head out through the front office again. The lost dogs look very smart with their bows.
‘I’ve never seen dogs from a pound look so lovely,’ says one lady to her friend as they watch us walk by.
‘I must tell my sister to come and look here. She’s looking for a new dog after her poor old Snooky died.’
‘Chelsea,’ I say, ‘that lady has just given me an idea.’
‘What?’
‘Well, lots of people forget that you can get lovely dogs from pet shelters. Dogs that are just as nice as dogs from other places, and a lot cheaper, too.’
‘You’re right,’ says Chelsea.
‘Well, maybe we need to make more posters like the one we made for Hector? We could put them in pet supply shops and in Mum’s surgery. They might even put them in the paper!’
‘Juliet, that’s brilliant. No wonder you’re nearly a vet.’
‘Let’s start making posters when we get home tonight. Mum has a camera on her phone so we can take some snaps of them before we leave.’
We’re so excited talking about our new idea that we’re back at the bowls club before we know it. The manager of the bowls club has carried some chairs out to the footpath and there is now a row of smiling faces and warm hands waiting to say hello to us.
We tell them about our idea for the posters and a lady with a long grey plait suggests putting posters in the bowls club too.
When we finally get back to Paul we’re exhausted, and Mum drives in just us we unclip the last of the dogs.
‘Great news,’ says Paul. ‘The Australian terrier has been picked up as well, so that leaves us with just eight homeless pooches. Hopefully more of those will go in the next couple of days.’
I smile, even though I was hoping it was Hector that had found his home.
Maybe more posters will help him.
‘Paul, can we make some posters about the dogs that need to find a home? We thought it might help.’
‘That’s a great idea,’ says Paul. ‘I can copy them and put them on our website, too.’
‘Can we come back tomorrow?’ I beg Mum. ‘Chelsea and I are really going to need to get to know the dogs if we’re going to make meaningful posters about them.’
‘And they will definitely need more walking and grooming,’ adds Chelsea.
‘Sure,’ say Mum, rolling her eyes just a little. ‘As long as it’s okay with you, Paul? I have to bring the other dog back anyway.’
‘Of course it is!’ says Paul. ‘How often do I have assistants who are nearly vets and groomers to help me out?’
Chelsea and I can’t get the smiles off our faces. We’re going to be very busy.
Before we leave the Mercy Street Home for Lost Dogs we get Mum to take some photos of the dogs that need to find a family.
As soon as we get home, we race to Mum’s surgery to check on the dog with the sore paw. He’s still a bit sleepy from his operation, but Mum says he’s going to be fine.
Curly is not too happy when he sniffs our clothes. He can smell other dogs all over us and seems a bit confused.
After we’ve had a shower and dinner, we load the photos onto the computer and start to make our posters.
‘If we put the dog’s photo at the top, we can make a checklist to fill out when we observe them tomorrow,’ I suggest.
‘Great idea,’ agrees Chelsea. ‘That way people get a quick snapshot of what each dog is like.’
We start to make our checklist.
‘Time for bed, girls,’ says Mum.
Chelsea is sleeping over at my house – I love school holidays.
‘Nearly finished, Mum,’ I say. ‘Can we just have a couple more minutes?’
‘Five minutes, then into bed.’
Curly is snuggled up on the floor beside us. I give him a big cuddle. He’s very happy being the top dog again. I hope Hector’s not too sad.
‘At the bottom we should say to contact the Mercy Street Home for Lost Dogs and include the phone number,’ I say.
‘Good idea,’ says Chelsea, and she types it in.
We fall into bed exhausted. For once, we are both too tired to talk.
Curly wakes me the next morning by licking my toes.
‘Yuck, Curly!’ I laugh.
We have breakfast and then go out to Mum’s surgery to check on the collie with the sore paw.
Mum lets us take him out for a bit of a walk in the garden before we put him in the car to go back to the lost dogs’ home.
‘I wonder if anyone else has rung about their dog?’ says Chelsea on our way there.
I know Chelsea is thinking about Hector as much as I am. Best friends know these things.
When we get there we can tell lots of dogs have gone home because it’s heaps quieter.
‘We’re down to just six now,’ Paul reports happily. ‘One of the other shelters called looking for the little poodle and the small shaggy dog.’
‘Can we go and see Hector?’
‘Sure,’ says Paul, and he stays to talk to Mum about the collie with the sore foot.
Hector is curled up on a blanket when we go in. A lot of the other dogs jump up and run to the front of their pens, but he doesn’t move.
‘Hector,’ I whisper quietly as we open his door.
Hector leaps up when he hears my voice. He jumps all over both of us and turns around in happy circles. Chelsea and I hug him as hard as we can.
‘Come on, Hector,’ says Chelsea. ‘Let’s see what you lost dogs can do.’
Paul helps us take the six dogs out into the large yard behind the shed to start our observations.
We tie the dogs to the fence in a line and I sit with a clipboard while Chelsea ties a number on a piece of card around each dog’s neck. Paul obviously hasn’t seen a trainer as good as Chelsea before, so he sits down to watch.
‘Let’s start with the food tests,’ says Chelsea.
She opens her training kit and takes out some parcels of different food she has brought from home.
‘Um, Chelsea, will your mum mind that you’ve brought roast lamb, sausages and half her vegetables?’
‘That’s one of the best things about having four huge, football-playing brothers, Juliet. If food disappears, I’m the last person anyone would suspect.’
I nod and look over at Paul. He shrugs his shoulders and frowns a little, but I’m sure he understands that animal trainers must put their animals first.
‘Paul, do you have any dry and canned dog food we could use, please?’ asks Chelsea.
‘Sure. We’ve got heaps in the shed.’ Paul walks off and soon comes back with some dog food.
‘Okay, let’s start with the dry food,’ says Chelsea as she puts a few biscuits in each dog’s bowl. ‘When I put them down, Juliet, could you make a note of what dog eats what food?’
‘Okay,’ I say, pencil ready.
She puts the bowls on the ground in front of each dog. I watch carefully as the dogs approach their bowls. Some of them are straight into the dry food, while others sniff and look away.
Chelsea holds up the next sample of food and does the same. She keeps going until the dogs have tried all of the different foods.
Hector and the labrador love being tested. They’re tied up on either side of the little sausage dog. As soon as they finish their food, they strain on their leads to reach his. The sausage dog looks very worried – maybe he thinks h
e’ll be mistaken for a meal!
I draw up a table in my Vet Diary.
‘From this test we can see who’s fussy and who isn’t,’ says Chelsea. ‘It’ll be really helpful when people enquire about the dogs, Paul. It would be terrible for someone to choose a dog they don’t fully understand.’
Paul nods. He has a slightly dazed expression on his face. He’s obviously never seen a world-famous animal trainer in action before.
‘Now let’s test some of their other skills and interests,’ says Chelsea.
The phone rings and Paul has to leave as Chelsea takes some balls and toys from her bag. She unclips all of the dogs and throws the tennis ball down to the other end of the enclosure.
The collie and the Dalmatian take off after it. The sausage dog runs the other way. The black fluffy dog just stares at the other dogs, and the fat labrador sits down and yawns. Hector spends his whole time trying to get as many pats from us as he can.
I take lots of notes as Chelsea continues. She hands the dogs a variety of chew toys that can have food hidden inside them. Only the Dalmatian and Hector show any interest, but Hector has no idea how to get the food from inside the toy. He drops it on the ground in front of him and starts to whimper. The collie is still jumping around waiting for the ball to be thrown again. And the labrador is stretched out and sleeping in the sun.
‘Well, this tells me quite a lot,’ says Chelsea as she looks down at my notes. ‘We can fill in their posters with a lot more detail now. I think the little dogs might suit older people and perhaps the labrador, too. I also think poor Hector has never been given much attention.’
The Lost Dogs Page 2