Mostly Maggie at Doggy Day Care

by Barb Norris

  It was extremely difficult to get this group excited about much of anything. I did manage to interest Duchess in her squeaky shoe for just a couple of minutes. I bounced a ball for Cedric who wanted no part of that. Polly, though, chased the ball once or twice. It was normally quiet in the small room, and this morning was no exception. Well, that was about to change.

  Hotshot, our dynamo of a Chihuahua, had arrived. He loved absolutely everybody, big or small. I wondered what would happen if he came in with our little crew. In he came. As usual, Hotshot was zipping lickety-split all over the room and in and out of the playhouse. All this activity underneath him in the playhouse actually roused Cedric from his top floor post and he went to the lower level of the house to find out who or what was causing all that commotion. Then the most amazing thing happened.

  Hotshot, in his own inimitable manner, somehow convinced Cedric to chase him in and out of that playhouse. Much to my delighted amazement, Hotshot managed to get every single one of my little charges involved in something. He had Polly running around on her stubby little legs. He got Bonnie involved in a race. He managed to get jealous Clyde to race around the room with him and forget about Bonnie for a short time. Most surprising of all, he even had Duchess, our dowager queen, running and playing. It was a wonderful sight to behold. Hotshot never ran out of gas.

  When the dogs had had enough excitement, all of about ten minute’s worth, they all went back to their normal, sedate routines. Hotshot, of course, was still loaded for bear and looking for action. It wouldn’t have been right to keep him in with this now worn-out little group. I thanked Hotshot for his successful efforts and sent him into the big playroom where he could continue to expend his always-frenetic energy. I escorted him into the larger room so he would not be bored.

  * * * *

  There was the one embarrassing morning in the small room. So far, Queenie and I were the only ones in the small room that day. This was early on and Queenie was still pretty nervous about being at camp and still didn’t want much to do with anyone, including me.

  There was a furnace problem and Queenie and I were both freezing. I tried to convince her to climb onto my lap for warmth, but she wasn’t anxious to do that. I put one of the warm and fuzzy little crate mats on the floor, sat down next to it and stayed very still and quiet. Queenie finally decided that the mat looked like a more comfy place to be, even if it was close to the scary ol’ counselor. She cautiously made her way over and sat down next to me. I said nothing for a few minutes. Then I talked softy to her. After a few more minutes, she allowed me to pick her up. I tucked her under my jacket and the two of us hunkered down trying to keep warm. She was content to stay there.

  We finally got some heat. I was pleasantly surprised when Queenie stayed on my lap. Before long we were joined by Polly, Bonnie, and Clyde. Queenie left my lap to avoid close contact with the new arrivals that came over to tell us both hello. and to create a puddle, which greatly interested Clyde.

  “Oh, yuck, Clyde. Don’t slurp that.” Time for a quick clean-up.

  There was a man working in the corner of the room. One of portable fences had been set up to keep the dogs from helping the guy. All the dogs except Queenie kept putting their little paws up on the fence, and I kept telling them to get down. I decided they needed a distraction.

  Me being me, my first inclination was to talk to them. I’m still good at that. I explained the man really didn’t need their help. I chattered away at them, thanking them for doing good things. I carried on entire one-sided conversations with them about what was happening in their furry little lives.

  I had totally forgotten there was another human being in the room with me. When it dawned on me he was there, I got all flustered and embarrassed. Don’t ask me why. I was, after all, the one who had story time for the dogs. In that case, though, nobody but fellow workers could hear me, and they already knew I was a little nuts. However, this guy was not someone I knew. He laughed and told me he was getting a kick out of the whole scenario. Good man

  * * * *

  One would think that crating the little dogs would be a pretty easy task. It wasn’t easy even though most of them were cooperative. They were put on leads, taken to the elimination station just in case, and then lifted into their second level crates. No problems.

  Queenie, on the other hand, absolutely hated to be put into her crate. Come lunch/nap time, this usually inactive and shy dog would develop an entirely new personality. She would go into her catch-me-if-you-can mode. She became very quick on her paws and quite adept at avoiding capture. If the counselor was very patient, very calm, and very sneaky, Queenie could eventually be conned into coming close enough to be caught. Counselors had to be sure the crate was ready for Queenie before putting her inside. Once you had her, she settled down and resigned herself to temporary incarceration.

  She might have resigned herself, but she didn’t like it. The whole while she was inside her crate, her goal was to get out as soon as an opportunity presented itself. You didn’t want to open that door again until it was time for her to come out. The instant that crate door opened, Queenie was primed to rocket out at you. Not a good idea, since her crate was on the second level, a long way down for a little dog. Counselors would open the door only wide enough to get an arm in and get hold of Queenie so she could be safely lifted out. We had to be on double alert with quiet little Queenie.

  * * * *

  I had always considered myself a big dog person. Working with the little ones that came to camp gave me a whole new perspective. I decided I would never again reject a dog based solely on size. I discovered the little ones are just as lovable as the big ones. They aren’t all ankle nippers and constant yappers. I should have realized this much sooner in my life.

  Most days in the small room were quiet and relaxing. Those few occasions when things got a little exciting just made it more interesting.

  Never underestimate the size of a small dog’s heart.

  ~ Sucker for a Shelter Dog ~

  Daylight hadn’t yet arrived as I sat in my car in the dark, virtually empty parking lot. I was not in any of the closest fifteen parking places as I waited for the manager to arrive and unlock the building. I hadn’t been there long when she pulled into her spot in the side lot, much closer to the building. I got out of my car and started walking toward the door.

  I always try to be aware of what is happening around me, but I hadn’t noticed a black pick-up parked four lanes over about halfway between my car and the building. I did notice it when I was almost even with it. I picked up my pace a little. It was dark, the manager had disappeared inside, and there was no one else around. I’d just taken another step when a male voice I didn’t recognize called me by name. Well, that was a surprise. Not quite sure what was going on, I slowed down just a little and looked in his direction. I didn’t have any idea who he was.

  Just then, two dogs that had been walking at his side came out in front of him. Well, I didn’t know him, but I sure knew the two dogs. They were camp regulars. One was Tawny and the other was Annie. Relieved to see familiar faces, I stopped and waited for them.

  The man said he was sorry and hadn’t meant to startle me. He introduced himself as the dad of the two dogs. It was normally their mom who brought them in, but she wasn’t able to do it that day. He said he knew he was kind of early, but asked if I could please take the dogs from him in the parking lot since he was already running a little late for work. I was happy to oblige him. I had plenty of time to get them settled and do my rounds.

  It was play time. I brought Annie and Tawny into the big room. Snowball, Cedric, Duchess, and deaf Norton soon joined us. Lady came in, followed by Sassy. This was a nice little group with which to work.

  Almost an hour into play time, Kate brought a new dog into the big room. He obviously had some Labrador Retriever in his blood, mixed with something unidentified but large. His was not the coat of a Lab but it was not a long coat either. He was big. He was dirty and prett
y darned stinky. He had been abandoned. He was very quiet with an almost sad look. Kate called him Bear.

  Of course the other dogs gathered around him, checking him out and wagging at him. Bear wasn’t exactly thrilled with all their attention, but he tolerated it.

  Kate explained he was from a local shelter group and had come in for much-needed grooming. No doubt about it, Bear definitely needed a thorough grooming. He had handsome features and a black coat that could only improve once he was clean. Kate thought he would also benefit from some socializing with the campers. I agreed. She left Bear with me and went off to other duties.

  After the ritual new-dog greeting, the campers went off to their own activities. Bear attached himself to me and wasn’t anxious to play with the dogs. I wondered about his full background. When I gave him a bit of encouragement, he finally spent a few minutes with Annie, Lady, and Snowball, three other quiet and calm dogs. Sassy and Tawny intimidated him while both Cedric and Duchess ignored him. Little deaf Norton decided to howl.

  This sent Bear back to lean on me. I was sitting on the bridge trying to convince Norton everything was good with the world and he could stop howling, which he did eventually. Poor Bear didn’t know what to make of Norton howling. Poor Bear didn’t quite know what to make of the whole camp thing. He spent the rest of the morning glued to my leg and getting as much petting and individual attention as I could give him. That was a lot. I was unwisely and knowingly letting this hulk of a dirty, stinky, rescued dog get to me.

  Bear was a mighty sweet dog, and he had certainly wrapped me around his paw. At lunch time, I mentioned to Kate how sad Bear looked and that I hoped he would find a good home. Big mistake.

  After morning janitorial duties, I told Bear good-bye as he headed for his much-needed grooming. I headed home where Toby waited. It was about mid-afternoon when my phone rang. Caller ID told me it was work. I should have ignored it. I didn’t.

  “Woof, woof, woof. Bow-wow-wow.”

  That was what I heard when I answered. Knowing I don’t always hear well, I asked the caller to repeat what they’d said.

  “Woof, woof, woof. Bow-wow-wow.”

  Okay, same thing. Then it hit me, and I burst out laughing. It was Kate. She had called to convince me in dog-speak to come and pick up a freshly cleaned-up Bear and give him a forever home. I declined, giving her all the reasons why we didn’t need a second dog. Toby would feel bad having to share Tom and me, Bear was a really big dog, Tom would never agree. etc. etc. She wasn’t buying any of it. I told her I’d think about it.

  I thought about it for all of about two minutes. Bear really was a nice dog. I ended up calling Tom at work, asking him about the possibility of adding Bear to our family. He said he didn’t think it was a good idea. I kind of whimpered at him, and he agreed to get home as soon as possible and go over to the store and at least meet Bear.

  As soon as he pulled in the driveway, I dashed out to the car. We didn’t have much time. The camp would close in half an hour. He drove like the wind, and we got there in record time. I jumped out of the car, raced into the store, and back to camp.

  Kate was waiting for us. So was Bear. He looked fabulous, his black coat shining and soft. His aroma was distinctly better than it had been in the morning. I couldn’t believe it was the same dog.

  It seems his session with the groomer, combined with a day in the playroom with a bunch of other dogs had perked him right up. He didn’t look sad any more. He wasn’t clinging to a person any more. He had, in fact, become a totally rowdy, completely unruly and boisterous dog. He was normal.

  By then, I really couldn’t believe it was the same dog. What in the world had happened to that calm, affectionate dog that had spent the morning oh-so-quietly working his way into my heart? He was still a fine dog, and a good-looking one.

  The quiet dog I’d spent time with that very morning had disappeared completely. His shyness was one of the reasons I’d even considered adopting him. That dog would have been an excellent companion for Toby. This new and improved version would have driven poor Toby crazy. It turned out that he just would not be a good match for our family—not for Tom, not for me, and definitely not for Toby.

  None of us would have been able to keep up with him. Bear would have been bored to doggy tears in our house. He needed a home with a lot of active kids. Tom and I both felt bad, but we simply couldn’t take him. It wouldn’t have been fair to Toby, and it wouldn’t have been fair to Bear. With all his good points, and he did have many, I was confident he would find a happy, commotion-filled home. He would love that.

  It wasn’t an easy decision but we left camp without Bear.

  I knew better. This showed precisely why I could never work at a shelter.

  ~ A Scary Situation ~

  One morning, the dogs that came in were all regulars and were well-known to all of the counselors. This was an active and fun bunch, sometimes rowdy, but never any problem. I was alone with the dogs today. Everybody else was busy in other parts of the building. This had never happened before. There was no one in the camp lobby, no one in the grooming area, no one in sight of the playroom. Oh, I’d been alone in the playroom many times, as had other counselors, but this was the first time any counselor had been virtually isolated with the dogs. I was not concerned. I knew each of these dogs very well.

  They were all big dogs: Maggie, the Great Dane; Diablo, the Shepherd mix; Spike, the Weimaraner; Boomer, the German Shorthair mix; Lady, another German Shorthair mix; and Casper, another Shepherd mix.

  It was about mid-morning and the dogs were all very busy, playing in groups of two or three. This was normal behavior. After a few minutes, things got interesting.

  It was incredibly rare for all of the dogs, on any day, to be playing one game together, but they were doing it now. They were all racing round and round the room as a loose pack, having a good ol’ time for several minutes. Suddenly something else started happening. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what it was, but the atmosphere had changed. I could feel it.

  Instead of the whole group just racing around, five of the six dogs now seemed to have become an organized pack. That pack had targeted Maggie for some reason or other. She’d been racing with them, but they seemed now to be actually chasing her. They were all barking and poking at her, and she was becoming a little bit nervous. I had no idea what the goal of the five was, but I didn’t like this at all. Maggie liked it even less, and that could easily turn quickly into a disaster.

  I couldn’t tell you the precise moment the race turned into the chase, but I knew I had to stop it, and I had to stop it instantly. I got on the walkie-talkie and requested immediate help. I really couldn’t wait for back-up to arrive, though. I was on my own here, and it was not a comfortable feeling. I wasn’t afraid, but I was a little apprehensive. I absolutely had to do something immediately.

  I had the can of Citronella for use in extreme emergencies. I didn’t want to use it. It was getting pretty close, but we were not to the critical point just yet. I didn’t want to let the situation reach that critical point. So far, it was only to the this-is-obviously-not-good point, requiring prompt action, but not extreme enough for the Citronella spray.

  While nobody appeared to be seriously aggressive yet, I really feared for Maggie—both what they might do to her and what she might do to them if she got any more upset than she was at that moment. Nothing for it but to wade through the pack and physically break them up.

  I started calling dogs by name, spraying the water bottle at everybody, trying to slow them all down, and get them away from Maggie. They did slow down a bit, but they were still in a tight bunch and still barking at her. Large as she was, Maggie was, after all, still a puppy. It was obvious she was a becoming more than a little upset with being surrounded with no safe haven in sight. She was trapped against the wall.

  I pushed dogs aside right and left with no threats from the pack and was able to get close enough to Maggie to calm her down a bit. When the other dogs
were forced away from her, I managed to get a lead around her neck. For her own safety, and to re-direct the rest of the dogs, I figured my best option at that point was to place Maggie in protective custody and take her out of the room.

  By the time I got the other dogs away from her and pulled her out of the fray, the feeling of impending doom had gone down by several degrees and help had arrived. The other counselors had certainly not been slow to respond. They got back to the camp area almost immediately. The situation in the playroom had just happened incredibly fast.

  Maggie was taken out of the room and put in the kennel area until she could calm down. The rest of the dogs needed to calm down as well. So did I.

  The pack had broken up and the dogs were back to playing in smaller groups. Maggie had been out for about twenty minutes. We decided to bring her back now that we had three counselors in the playroom. The three of us kept a very close and wary eye on everybody.

  It was like nothing had ever happened. The dogs had forgotten the whole thing, even Maggie. She was busy running with Diablo. Lady and Boomer were chasing the ball. Spike and Casper were playing Tuggie. Things ran smoothly for the rest of the morning.

  The crisis, if it really was a crisis, was over. Could it have been my imagination? No. I didn’t think so at the time, and I don’t think so today. Something decidedly unpleasant had been going on.

  I wasn’t afraid for my own safety with these dogs, even when they were acting as a pack. I admit, though, that the sudden and completely unexpected mob mentality I saw in my charges that day set my nerves on edge. I was more than a little relieved when reinforcements arrived.