Mostly Maggie at Doggy Day Care

by Barb Norris

  Having collected all the information I could, it was time to meet a client dog, one on one, using everything I had learned in class. Of course, our class dogs had been right with their people all through training. I wondered what would happen with a dog I’d never met before.

  The real fun began when I, a virtual stranger, took a dog away from his beloved mom and dad and into a quiet room. Most of the dogs looked at this as an exciting adventure. This was already a good sign. Some of the dogs became a little nervous when they realized that mom and dad were not right behind them. Almost all of these slightly apprehensive dogs calmed down very quickly once they realized I wasn’t an evil, wicked dog-hater with murder or dognapping in my heart. A very few of the dogs were shaking and quaking, they were so nervous. These really scared ones were not generally good candidates. Camp would be no fun at all for a truly terrified dog. We would suggest a socialization class for skittish dogs. Once they passed such a class, they would be re-evaluated for camp entry.

  Then it was time to get up close and personal. I mean seriously up close and personal!

  First, I gave the dog a very quick health check. There were a few very basic areas that could be easily checked even without veterinary training. This was general information that I figured could be useful with my own dog. I learned as much as I could learn.

  I ran my hands all over the dog’s furry body, looking for any skin problems, open lesions or vermin. Yep, my hands went everywhere just like the judges in dog shows, only more so. Most of the time, the dog tolerated it well. Talking to him the entire time drew attention away from my hands and to my voice. Boy, if I was good at talking about dogs, then I would have to say I was great at talking to them. I’ve always talked to dogs. Then I checked the ears, looking for any obvious problems there. I made sure his eyes were clear and bright. So far so good.

  Most dogs don’t particularly like to have their feet touched. We did have to check them in spite of the general dislike. This was not a problem for me, because I’d checked my own dog’s feet daily when he was a puppy running around a new back yard that was all clay with no grass. I found if I started by petting his leg and gently worked my way down, the dog would not jump and pull his foot back. That was the method I used for camp hopefuls. It worked well.

  “You want me to put my hands where?” I already knew the answer to my question. I had asked as a delaying tactic while I worked up my courage. These were not the dogs we’d had at training with their people right there and this might get tricky, too tricky. It was time to check the condition of the dog’s teeth and gums. I had to be able to see inside his mouth, top to bottom, front to back. Sometimes this could be tricky since it was kind of hard to get them to smile on command. Most of the dogs cooperated, but there were a few who were a little reluctant to flash those pearly whites. In those cases, it required lifting the dog’s lips up and sometimes exerting gentle pressure to pry his teeth apart without putting your fingers between his uppers and his lowers. That could end up being painful.

  I finished the physical examination, and I thought it had gone pretty well. I ended up with the same number of fingers that I had before I started the exam. I was never bitten during exams.

  Temperament tests were next. I gave the dog some food or treats in a dish. Then I stirred the food around and pulled the dish away from him while he was eating. For this, I was using a pole. It wasn’t a good idea to move things around or approach the dish with my hand. It was too risky. If the dog was aggressive, I’d find out the instant he bit me. A food-aggressive dog would not be admitted to camp.

  Once the food test was passed, I gave the dog a toy. This was a two-fold test. I wanted to know if he was overly possessive with his toys. There is a big difference in a dog wanting to play tug or keep-away with a toy and one who doesn’t want to share at all. Here again, I used the pole to move the toy away from him. Once I knew the dog wasn’t going to rip me to pieces, I played with him for a short time. How he played showed me more of his personality and would demonstrate, at least to some degree, his activity level.

  Based on what I learned from the evaluation, I made a somewhat educated determination on which of two playrooms the dog would find more comfortable. The large playroom had windows looking into the camp lobby and into the store itself, presenting a lot of visual distraction. The dog could see what was happening outside the playroom. This was the right room for confident, friendly, and active dogs.

  The smaller room had no access to public activity. This was the room for dogs who had a hard time coping with too many distractions, dogs who were just a little too nervous to interact with extremely active dogs, or older dogs with low activity levels. On the rare occasion this room was in use, it was generally for small dogs. There were, of course, exceptions. My own older sixty-pound dog, Toby, on the only two days he attended camp, was much happier in the smaller, quieter room. There was a Briard, a fair sized dog, who also preferred the smaller room. For a counselor who wanted a fairly calm day, this was the room of choice.

  A dog’s size had very little to do with room placement. We had a Chihuahua who loved to run with a Great Dane. We also had a Yorkie that loved the excitement of the big room. It always amazed me that these little ones didn’t get trampled by the big guys. Dogs apparently have no concept of size. To them, a dog is a dog is a dog.

  Having successfully passed these steps in the evaluation, it was time for the final exam. This was the Big One. Meeting the other campers. It really wasn’t a good idea to just throw a new dog into an established group and hope for the best. That, we’d been told, would be inviting trouble. As an added safety precaution, whichever counselors were working anywhere in the store at the time all came to the playroom for the introduction of any new camper.

  A portable rod fence was put into place just inside the big playroom, separating the newcomer and the evaluating counselor from the group. One of the familiar dogs, proven to be mellow in any situation, was also put into the enclosure. The other counselors were stationed outside and right next to the fence, just in case any dog became overly upset, too excited, or suddenly aggressive. The new dog went one on one with the calm dog inside the enclosure and then nose to nose through the fence with the dogs gathered on the other side.

  If all went well, both the calm veteran and the new dog on the block were released into the playroom to run around with the rest of the gang. All available counselors were alert for any signs of trouble. On more than one occasion, a dog had passed all the preliminary tests, but became very aggressive when meeting the entire group with no fence separating them. When that happened, the aggressive dog was immediately removed from the room and was rejected for camp. A socialization class was suggested and the dog would be invited to try again after passing such a class.

  It took only a few minutes of mutual sniffing, slurping, and butt-wiggling for everybody to be best friends. Or for the counselors to find out that maybe their room placement decision should be reversed. Once introductions were made and all the dogs were getting along well, it was time for extra counselors to leave the room and go back to other duties while the dogs all got down to some serious play time.

  The evaluating counselor then went back to talk to the dog’s people. This was normally a good experience for the dog’s family and for me. On rare occasions, we did have to turn down a dog for camp. This was never easy, but it was something that had to be done.

  Counselors had a standard set of equipment for working in the playrooms. The most important was your voice. When a dog wasn’t behaving, the first thing we tried to do was distract him by making an unusual noise. This most often got his attention and he went back to acceptable behavior. If this didn’t work, we had a couple of options.

  There was a spray bottle of plain tap water to discourage excessive barking or other unacceptable behavior. We had a slip lead with us at all times, in case we had to stop and contain or remove a dog. We also had a spray can of Citronella.

  This was to be used o
nly for extreme situations. I didn’t know exactly what the Citronella did to them, but I was told the dogs definitely did not like it. I didn’t ever want to find out first-hand what it did. I suspect it must have burned their eyes something fierce. In my mind, a situation would have to verge on absolute, undeniable catastrophe for me to use it. I didn’t want to see a catastrophic situation, and I didn’t want ever to have to do anything that would hurt the dogs, even if it were temporary.

  I can’t forget sanitation. We all danced the Poop-Scoopin’ Boogie a lot. Mop buckets filled with sanitizing cleaner and water were used far more often than any of us would have liked. These buckets were really important, and they absolutely had to be changed often. Sanitizing liquid dispensers mounted on the walls in all areas of camp were available for counselors as well. We all took sanitation seriously. It was healthier for the dogs and the counselors.

  There was almost always a receptionist in the camp lobby, who could step in and help with the dogs in an emergency. Camp counselors also worked on the store floor so they weren’t always within ear shot. Every counselor in the playrooms had a walkie-talkie to summon help if needed. Any counselor working outside the camp area also had one. These came in handy on more than one occasion. The primary function of the walkie-talkies, however, turned out to be to call in a replacement when it was time for a break from the playroom. Very important.

  The probation period had ended. I had passed everything. My review had gone well. Elena had moved on to training folks at other locations. Now it was officially official. I was a full-fledged doggy day camp counselor - the Senior Counselor, no less. I didn’t ask whether the Senior part of the title was given to me based on merit or whether it was because I was, by a long way, the oldest employee in the entire store. Either way, I was a real happy camper myself.

  Meet new dogs with respect, a smile in your voice, and a touch of caution.

  ~ Good Morning, Maggie ~

  I was in charge of opening the camp. It was seven o’clock in the morning and I’d made my rounds. The playrooms were clean. Toys were clean and in the playrooms. Water dishes were filled and in place. Climbing toys were set in place. Doors were all secured. Other counselors would be in by the time playtime began at eight o’clock. I was ready for the day.

  The camp was located at the back of the store and opened at seven. The store itself didn’t open until nine o’clock, so a portable check-in desk was set up just inside the front doors during those two hours. Check-in was pretty routine. The receptionist greeted each dog and his people, and took note of any special instructions for the day. This paperwork would follow the dog throughout the day, notes being made for the pet parent if necessary. The dog was given a very quick physical once-over. His own collar was replaced with a special break-away camp ID collar, a safety rule for the dogs. Should another dog happen to get hold of this collar it would immediately come apart, preventing choking or other injury.

  Once the receptionist finished checking in a dog, she paged a counselor to come and take the dog back to the camp’s kennel area and put him into a crate. There he waited, often vocally and never patiently, for playtime to start. The dogs were always anxious to socialize and were happy and feisty on arrival.

  “Barb, Maggie is here,” my walkie-talkie squawked at me from the front check-in desk.

  As I headed up front, I couldn’t help but smile, remembering the first time I’d seen Maggie. She was a gorgeous fawn-colored Great Dane. Her front paws were up on the desk, and she towered over her mom, our receptionist, and me. The ear-cropping had not exactly taken on her. Her ears sort of stood up, but the tips did not. They fell over just a little. To me, that just added to her obvious charm. Maggie and I had bonded instantly. It was love at first sight.

  I was excited to meet her. Maggie was excited to meet everybody. She was drooling all over the desk, drooling all over the floor, drooling all over her mom, drooling all over the receptionist, and drooling all over me when I reached over to pet her. I took Maggie with her unusual ears back to the kennel area and directed her into a crate. She was a happy, friendly, and absolutely magnificent dog. I couldn’t wait to see her in the playroom with the other dogs. Before that could happen, though, I had to get back out to the desk and get my initiation into drool-cleaning. Oh, boy. That had been about four weeks earlier. Maggie and I had become great friends since that first meeting.

  When she spotted me coming, Maggie began wagging her tail furiously. She was a great one to start my day because she was always so exuberant. Her first order of business was to jump up on me. I expected this, but it still threw me slightly off balance and I crashed into a sign that stood behind me.

  “Good morning, Maggie. How’s my girl today? Okay, okay, you can get down now."

  I did manage to keep my feet under me long enough for Maggie to get off of me before any damage was done. It was very hard to be stern with her when she was so obviously happy to see me. She was completely lovable, and I have to say that I absolutely adored her.

  Maggie was our most regular camper, coming in at least three, and then four days a week. She was also our biggest camper. She was only eight months old and still had that puppy-clumsy thing going, which made things mighty interesting when that puppy weighed in at one hundred twenty pounds and was still growing.

  Maggie was familiar with the normal routine—walk, calmly, we hoped, back to the kennel area and into one of the large crates until playtime began. The process was normally routine and uneventful. Normally but not always.

  This particular day was not a normal day. The large crates were not available because of maintenance work. No way was Maggie going to fit into one of the smaller crates. What the heck would I do with her while I was on my own and other dogs were coming? I came up with a plan.

  “Well, Maggie, it looks like you get to skip the crate and get right into the playroom.” Maggie was happy about that. Because it was still early and we were the only ones back there, I could stay with her. There were lots of windows so I could keep an eye on the lobby as well. I knew the doors were locked and secure and the windows were all dog-proof. If I absolutely had to leave the room for a minute or two to collect another camp arrival, there was nothing in that room that could cause her any injury. I felt comfortable this would work until another counselor arrived. For the time being, though, it was just Maggie and me.

  First thing she did when we entered the room was to look around for her buddies. None of them were there yet. I could see the “Hey, where is everybody?” look on her face. It only took her a second to get over her disappointment though. After all, I was right there and Maggie was more than happy to play with anybody. It didn’t matter to her whether it was another dog or two, or a counselor.

  Since I was obviously the playmate of the moment, Maggie jumped up on me again, knocking my magnetic ID badge off my shirt. The badge was a little bigger than a business card, and Maggie decided it was a wonderful chewy toy. Her very favorite game was Keep Away, and the Leave it! command was completely lost on her.

  “C’mon, Maggie, you can’t have that. Bring it here.”

  This was not what Maggie wanted to do. It was time for another plan.

  I decided a little charade might be the best plan of action. The trick was to get close enough to her to get hold of anything at all that she’d had. To do this, I pretty much had to pretend to ignore her and nonchalantly just happen to stroll rather close to her. Then, without looking like I was looking, I needed to make a quick grab and get my hand on whatever it was I wanted to take away from her. Once I’d gotten hold of it, Maggie would almost always let go without much of a struggle. Using this strategy, I managed to retrieve my badge in reasonably short order.

  I was about to put my badge back on when Maggie spotted a small something on the floor. Maybe a yummy snack? I jammed my badge into my pocket and headed over to retrieve the whatever-it-was. Well, it must not have tasted so good because she dropped it immediately. It was a small stone. I had no clue as
to just where that had come from. No wonder she’d spit it out. I picked it up quick as all get-out and headed for the kitchen to dispose of the stone, happy she hadn’t chomped down on it. A broken Maggie tooth would definitely be a problem. I gave Maggie a glance along the way. Uh-oh.

  “Now what have you got, Maggie?”

  She’d found something else to chew on. It was small, black, flat, and rectangular. It took me a minute to realize it was the magnet backing from my badge that had been on the inside of my shirt. Obviously, it had fallen out. Now magnets cannot possibly be good for a dog to eat. The stone was stuffed into my pocket along with my badge, and I went after the magnet. She did not want to give it up.

  Maggie thought this was a really fun game, and I had a hard time keeping up with her keep-away self. I had just done my nonchalant act, and she wasn‘t buying into that again so soon. She finally dropped the magnet, quite accidentally, I‘m sure, and it landed partly under one of the supports on the climbing bridge. I threw caution to the wind and did a hard belly-flop down onto the bridge, wedging the magnet underneath where she couldn’t get hold of it. I was finally able to retrieve it. Whew. Now was my chance to leave the playroom. Oops.

  I spoke too soon. Maggie had other ideas. After all that excitement, she had to relieve herself, big time, which meant a major clean-up job. That chore being done, I successfully left the playroom and went into the kitchen, pulling the bottom of the Dutch door closed behind me, once again giving Maggie a glance. Oh, no.