Mostly Maggie at Doggy Day Care

by Barb Norris

  Mostly Maggie

  at Doggy Day Camp

  by Barb Norris

  Published by

  Melange Books, LLC

  White Bear Lake, MN 55110

  www.melange-books.com

  Mostly Maggie at Doggy Day Camp, Copyright 2013 by Barb Norris

  ISBN: 978-1-61235-671-6

  Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published in the United States of America.

  Cover Art by Becca Barnes

  MOSTLY MAGGIE AT DOGGY DAY CAMP

  BARB NORRIS

  Never boring. Usually rambunctious. Rarely quiet. Occasionally stubborn. Sometimes silly. Often noisy. Always unpredictable. Always lovable. Always fun. Meet the dogs of Doggy Day Camp.

  “You want me to put my hands Where?”

  “Geez, Sassy, already?”

  “Good morning, Maggie, my girl.”

  “You left the playroom door open.”

  “Hey, you two, let’s break it up down there.”

  “Ouch!”

  “Not on your life, Spider Guy!”

  “Oh, yuck, Clyde. Don’t slurp that.”

  “Wags. Wags! WAGS! Pulee-e-e-e-s-e be quiet.”

  “Okay, who’s responsible for that puddle?”

  “No, Maggie, you cannot eat my shirt.”

  “Time for a belly-rub, Snowball?”

  “Excuse me. dogs. Make way for the mop lady.”

  “Are you telling those dogs a story?”

  “Ouch!”

  “Pulee-e-e-z-e don’t make me go in there.”

  “Scally. No. Not in the drinking water.”

  “WHOA!”

  “Wags, you’ll see Scally in just a minute. Don’t carry on so.”

  “Ah-rooooo-ooooo-rooo.”

  “What are you selling? Hot dogs?”

  “Sorry, Casper, there will be no more flying today.”

  “Thank you for the kiss, furry face. I love you, too.”

  Table of Contents

  "Mostly Maggie"

  The Road to Camp

  Up Close and Personal

  Good Morning, Maggie

  In the Big Playroom

  Parade Day

  Daisy In Distress

  Good Morning, Scally/Wags

  Who Let the Dogs Out?

  A Snowball Meltdown

  Excitement in the Small Room

  Inside Out

  Stuff Happens

  All Dogs Like Me

  Houdini Dogs Identified

  A Soggy Doggy Day

  An Unsound Test

  Where There’s No Smoke...

  Small Room Happenings

  Sucker for a Shelter Dog

  A Scary Situation

  Another Day – Another Collar

  More Stuff Happens

  Outside In

  Good-bye, Campers

  Choose Wisely

  About the Author

  Previews

  ~ The Road to Camp ~

  Sixty years old and I needed to find a job. Imagine that. I wasn’t crazy about going back to work, but it just didn’t make sense not to. I was only two credits shy of qualifying for Social Security benefits in a couple of years. I didn’t have to earn a ton of money. I could work part-time, and I wouldn’t have to work for very long.

  It had been twenty years since I’d held a job. I was a receptionist, then an executive secretary, and finally an office manager. I thought this area would be the logical place to start. I thought wrong. I’d been out of the work force so long that what few computer skills I had were now obsolete. Oh, I could learn whatever programs would be necessary, but employers were not prone to accepting less than immediate skills. I also wasn’t the sweet, slim young thing I’d once been. Yes, that was still important to many companies. I could pretty much give up on an office job.

  Then there was the little problem of my hearing. It had started to fail while I was still employed. This would make it impossible for me to be a court reporter. My transcripts might be really fun to read. Fun, yes, but accurate? Probably not even close. Besides, if I heard or thought I heard an outrageous statement by a witness, the defendant, a lawyer, or even the judge, I’d be rolling my eyes and muttering under my breath. I’d likely be cited for contempt and end up in jail.

  A 911 dispatcher was out of the question as well. I’d be a real danger to whomever needed help. I’d gladly send it, just not always the right kind of help and probably not always to the right place. That would not be good.

  There was also the issue of my hands shaking. No one knows why, but I’ve had shaky hands as far back as I can remember. Combine that with the hearing thing and I wouldn’t last ten minutes as a waitress. Getting orders wrong and spilling coffee all over my customers would not get me many tips, no matter how friendly I was. In fact, it probably would get me fired in short order. I guessed I wouldn’t make it as a sculptor either. It was immediately and abundantly clear to me that being a brain surgeon was definitely out of the question!

  Enough with what I couldn’t do. Whatever the case, I still had to find a job. Okay, so I had a few hurdles to overcome. As if it weren’t going to be hard enough, my stubbornness kicked in. I was not going to settle for just any old job. Being a chronic and stubborn optimist, I decided I’d go for a job I would really enjoy. Time to get serious about this whole thing and figure out what I could do that I would also like to do.

  What I truly wanted was some kind of work with dogs. They wouldn’t care that I was technologically challenged. They wouldn’t care that I was no longer young and svelte. They wouldn’t care if I didn’t hear them exactly right and if my hands were not rock-steady. Realistically, though, I did have to admit I had a few limitations in this area as well.

  I couldn’t possibly foster dogs. After ten minutes in my house, any foster dog would be my dog—forever. Besides, that would be a volunteer position and there wouldn’t be a paycheck. A vet’s office was out of the question. I’d be too upset about sick or injured animals that couldn’t tell me what hurt. I was positive I would not be able to deal with any necessary euthanasia. A shelter or rescue would definitely not be good: I’d want to take every animal home with me. It was also possible that I’d be arrested for assaulting any animal abuser I could identify. Once again, I conjured up visions of spending time in jail, and I knew I wouldn’t look good in prison garb. I had no official qualifications to be a dog trainer, so that was not an option either. Actually, I didn’t have any qualifications beyond common sense and a great love for animals, dogs in particular.

  After searching for several months, I spotted an ad for a pet supply chain building a new store close to home. They strongly urged people to rescue puppies or kittens from shelters, or to go through a reputable breeder. The store didn’t sell these. They did, however, sell rabbits, ferrets, guinea pigs, and other small critters, as well as birds, snakes, lizards, amphibians, fish, and a variety of spiders, scorpions, and the like. They were looking specifically for people to care for these animals and try to put them into good homes. I would be good at that as long as I could avoid the spiders, scorpions, and millipedes. I wouldn’t be working with dogs, but I would be happy working with almost any creature. This job was actually a possibility.

  Off I went to
apply. The initial interview went pretty well. When I found out that there were plans to include a Doggy Day Camp in the store, I was absolutely beside myself with joy. Now that would be a job I knew I’d enjoy. In fact, it sounded like the perfect job for me! I couldn’t imagine any job that could possibly be better. The store would open within a month, but the Day Camp facility would not open for three to four months. The lady doing the interviewing saw my excitement and was apparently impressed I was willing to wait. Wait I did, periodically checking in with the store. On the one hand, I didn’t want to pester them to death. On the other hand, I didn’t want them to forget me.

  Finally, after almost four and a half months, I got the call I’d been waiting for, and I went in for a second interview. I thought it went well, and I was feeling pretty good about it. A few days later, they called and offered me a counselor position in the day camp program. YES! I was thrilled.

  Having landed my perfect job, I was anxious to start. I would be working with a variety of dogs—all shapes and sizes. I was on my way to becoming a Doggy Day Camp Counselor. I didn’t know it then, but I was also on my way to meeting Maggie.

  My duties, as far as I knew at the time, would be to play with the dogs, keep them busy, and break up the occasional little doggy squabble. Of course, there would no doubt be some of what my friend calls the ‘Poop-Scoopin’ Boogie’ to add a bit of interest. This really would be the absolutely perfect job for me. How hard could it be?

  Apparently, it would be a little harder than I’d thought. I was off to training classes.

  These classes were not exactly what I had anticipated. I found out that I would just have to wait to meet the dogs. First, I would have to attend one week of customer service training classes required for all new employees, regardless of their position. During that week, I was in class with several other folks, all of whom were much younger than me. They were not all headed for the day camp program, and that was good news for me. After the general training, there would be two weeks of intensive training for working with the dogs. I was anxious to get this show on the road, but I also knew any information I picked up would be worth the time somewhere down the line.

  We started with some basic retail public relations. We would smile a lot. If we didn’t know the answer to a customer’s question, we would find the answer person in the right department. We would smile a lot. We would put price stickers on merchandise. We would smile a lot. We would do a little cashiering. We would smile a lot. We would stock shelves. We would smile a lot. We would collect shopping carts from the parking lot. We would smile a lot. We would police the area outside the store. We would smile a lot. We would not take up any of the closest fifteen parking spaces. Oh, yeah, and we would smile a lot.

  I had to learn a little bit about all kinds of critters, mostly of the furry, cuddly variety. I was happy to learn about bunnies, ferrets, rats, mice, and guinea pigs. I picked up some good information about birds and their general health. I learned a little about fish and aquariums. I’m happy to report that I can now efficiently bag up a fish for a safe trip home.

  There wasn’t much emphasis on snakes and lizards, which I do like and have no trouble handling. There are some good-looking snakes and lizards that tend to slither, but they are not slimy, as some people believe. There was virtually no class in the creepy, crawly critter category. That was okay with me. You have to be a special kind of person to handle scorpions and tarantulas. Animal lover that I am, I am definitely not the kind of person to handle any creature with more than two wings or more than four legs. Just the thought of touching these creatures makes me shudder.

  At last, it was time to start training for the dogs. Our teacher was a professional animal behaviorist/trainer. I mean a no fooling around big-time trainer. Her name was Elena, and she was a delightful lady. I liked and respected her from the beginning. Her resume was impressive and her background was awesome. She had worked in Hollywood, not only with dogs but also with lions and tigers and bears. Oh, my!

  Early on, I found out what the real duties of the counselors were. There was a bit more to the job than I’d expected. I would not be a dog trainer, but I would have to exercise some alpha authority over the dogs. My official job title would be Doggy Day Camp Counselor. While this title sounded far more impressive than dog-sitter/janitor, I really didn’t care what they called me. I’d be right where I wanted to be.

  First and foremost, I’d spend most of my time in the playrooms with the dogs. My primary duty would be to let the dogs play with each other without human intervention. Sometimes, though, to keep the dogs happy and active, I would have to toss a ball or instigate another activity of some kind. Wow! I couldn’t imagine getting paid for having that much fun.

  I would also have to get down and dirty. There would be dishes to wash, windows to wash, floors to vacuum, wash, and sanitize, toys to get out and later pick up, sanitize, and put away. Geez, it was a lot like home, now that I think about it. There would be furry faces to wipe down when the dogs drooled excessively. Globs of this drool would have to be wiped off the drooler, other dogs, the equipment, the walls, the windows, the floor, and the counselors. There would be water dishes to be filled, refilled when the dogs drank a lot, refilled after the dogs spilled them, refilled after the dogs played in them, and refilled when a dog would occasionally decide to add water of his own to the drinking dish. Last, but certainly not least, there would be a lot more of the ever-popular Poop-Scoopin’ Boogie than I would have ever thought possible.

  The camp had no outside facility for the dogs to use for normal bodily functions. What we did have was an elimination station, a room that contained a toilet to flush solid waste, a hose to wash the room down, and two fake fire hydrants. Well, I had a few questions.

  Would the dogs actually use this room as intended? Would they really use the fake fire hydrants? Would house-trained dogs spend the day at camp gritting their teeth or would they do their business inside the camp? Would they then go home and totally forget that they’d ever been house-trained in the first place? Would this bring an onslaught of disgusted and angry pet parents to our doors?

  I was told these very questions had actually been researched. It had been found the dogs would not to mess up their crates while they were at camp and would still follow house rules at home, because they are not fond of soiling their own territories. We were also told that the dogs would indeed do their business in camp whenever and wherever nature called. The camp playrooms were mutually shared territory and not exclusive so they did not feel compelled to keep the place clean. In the playrooms, the dogs had no inhibitions. NONE. At all.

  Employees brought in their own dogs during training so we could practice our newly gained knowledge and skills. There was an adult Great Pyrenees, very calm and cooperative. There were a couple of small dogs, a Dachshund and a medium sized mix of unknown ancestry. They were a patient lot as they were put through the evaluation procedure. We played with these dogs and practiced our authoritative alpha voices to maintain order in the playrooms and in the kennel area.

  There were basic rules of doggy etiquette that I had to know. I learned what subtle signs to look for in order to anticipate and, hopefully, avoid possible doggy squabbles. How the dogs held their ears and heads would be clues. I did already know that a wagging tail isn’t always a sign of a happy dog. I found out there was a lot more to it. Sometimes a wagging tail was a subtle sign of distress and sometimes of aggression. How they were wagging combined with other visible factors told us a bit about them. I soaked up as much information as I possibly could.

  Evaluating a dog for entry into the camp program was of prime importance. Not all of the dogs were suitable for camp, and these dogs were not invited back. One employee had three dogs that she wanted in the program. Two passed muster. One didn’t. We enjoyed all the dogs, but we didn’t play favorites with who would be accepted into camp. We couldn’t play favorites. Allowing a misfit into camp could lead to disaster.

  This particu
lar camp didn’t automatically exclude any specific breed. The so-called bully breeds—Pit Bulls, Rottweilers, or Dobermans, etc.—were evaluated just the same as any other breed. Each dog earned his way into the program on his individual merits, not by breed reputation. If all tests were passed, the dog was admitted to camp.

  Individual evaluations were the best way to meet a prospective camper. It was important to get to know a dog quickly, and to try and establish a bit of a bond. This was my favorite part.

  During the first two weeks of the camp’s public opening, counselors were being evaluated right along with the dogs. We also had to be suitable candidates for camp life. Elena was on hand to watch evaluations, our interaction with the dogs, and with their people. It was kind of a nervous time for counselors. If enthusiasm counted at all, though, I was in pretty good shape.

  Puppy-sitting with dogs who already had good homes.

  Wow! How great would that be?

  ~ Up Close and Personal ~

  The first step in evaluating any applicant was talking to the prospective camper’s people. No problem there. I can discuss dogs ‘til the cows come home. I needed to find out as much as possible about the dog’s likes, dislikes, allergies, etc. For example, it was a very good thing to know that Fido or Fidette absolutely hated to be hugged. If I actually remembered this little tidbit of information, it would keep me from hugging that dog and keep him from chomping me.

  It was most important to pay attention to any of Fido’s food allergies. Poisoning one of my furry charges with a well-intentioned-but-lethal treat would be devastating. I couldn’t even imagine having to tell someone I’d accidentally poisoned his or her adored dog. Oh, my gosh. I’d carry guilt with me for the rest of my natural life. Besides, I could possibly end up being sued. They sure wouldn’t get much, but I still didn’t want to be sued for the wrongful death of any animal or any person. I paid very close attention. I checked health records to be sure the dogs were current on shots and that they had been spayed or neutered.