by Barb Norris
We had been told back during our training that Corporate felt only one counselor was needed for every twenty dogs. Someone had disagreed and argued that one was not enough. It would be difficult for a single counselor to monitor that many dogs because dogs, being dogs, could get out of hand. Luckily, Corporate had listened to reason.
Twenty to one odds in favor of the dogs was flat-out just plain risky. It was never more evident than on this day when I was dealing with only six dogs.
The walkie-talkies were seldom used. Most of the time, when we used them it was to call another counselor into the playroom so whoever was already in there could take a break. That day, however, the walkie-talkies had been invaluable and had definitely served their intended function. I was glad we had them.
This particular incident was so unusual that it will stand out in my mind for a long, long time as being just a little bit scary. That was the last time any counselor was left in such a truly isolated situation.
I was also more than thankful I had not had to resort to the Citronella spray.
Dogs never hold a grudge, an attribute we should all take to heart.
~ Another Day - Another Collar ~
It was another day with not a lot of dogs scheduled, but that didn’t mean much. We usually got a drop-in or two, or three, or four.
Jake came in. He was a Shepherd/Husky mix who was far and away the most handsome dog I’d ever seen. His back stood about hip-high and he was absolutely gorgeous. He had a Shepherd face, ears, and long, slender legs. His coat felt like that of a Shepherd, but it looked like spun gold. His nose was black, but everything else was warm yellow-gold, including his eyes. He had it all. The look of a golden canine Adonis and a sweet disposition to boot. He was a great dog and got along well with everybody. When Jake wanted your attention he would push his head into you, front or back, at just the right level to make you jump. He would run with the big guys, and would play Tuggie with a little Dachshund named Dolly.
Dolly came in shortly after Jake. She was slightly overweight even though she was a fairly active little gal. She would occasionally race around with Jake on her pudgy little legs. She starting running with him. Jake located the tug toy and the two of them had a go at that. It was really funny to watch those two play anything with each other.
Dolly’s all-time favorite game, though, consisted of only two players; Dolly and a counselor, me this time. She had a favorite ball that she would push in my direction. She never grabbed for it and actually waited patiently for me to roll it again. I didn’t throw a ball for Dolly. She only chased rolling balls. She always chased it when I rolled it, and she always brought it back to me, sort of. She would stop about four feet in front of me, drop her ball and push it at me with her nose.
Spike, a huge Rottweiler, came into the room. He was another of those dogs who never kicked up a fuss and was always quiet and calm. He was an older dog and spent most of his time napping. He didn’t play with anybody, but he liked to have his head rubbed now and then. Spike Rottweiler picked a spot along the playroom wall and pretty much stayed put.
Pixie, a Yorkie with a punk hair style, came that day. Her hair was clipped short and stuck out just every which way. She was the tiniest dog I had ever seen. Pixie would fit in one hand and was one hundred percent adorable. She went immediately over to Dolly and ran on over to greet Jake. Another case of size meaning nothing. There wasn’t a bone of fear in this tiny dog. No wallflower, Pixie. She would zip all over the playroom without ever getting stepped on by the big guys. That always amazed me.
Snowball loped into camp. She greeted the others, ran with Jake for a few minutes, and then headed for her favorite lounge spot in the corner. Pixie went over to her and cuddled up at her side, a tiny bundle of black and brown and tan against a mountain of white. Geez, I should have had a camera with me at all times.
In came Hotshot. He zipped in and greeted Jake, Dolly, and Spike. He’d never met Pixie before. When he noticed her, he dashed right over for a how-do-you-do? While Hotshot paid no mind to the size of any of the dogs, I couldn’t help but wonder if he realized that, on this day, he was not the smallest dog in attendance. Pixie and Hotshot checked each other out thoroughly and wrestled around a little. It was great. They each finally had someone they could actually wrestle with for a change. They could run with the big dogs for a little while, but they sure couldn’t wrestle with them.
In came our other Spike, the wound-up Weimaraner. He ran over to Spike Rottweiler, who just wanted to be left alone. Spike W. didn’t take offense and immediately ran over to Jake to invite him to race. Dolly was abandoned. Jake and Spike W. tore off running around the room, Spike W. barking along the way.
Hotshot and Pixie were involved in a race of their own. It was comical when both of these tiny dogs decided to join Jake and Spike Weimaraner. This didn’t last long, and the little ones went back to their own race, staying out of the way of the thundering Jake and Spike W. They weren’t afraid of the big dogs, but they were both smart enough to keep out from underfoot when there was a big-dog race in progress.
Along about mid-morning, we were graced with the presence of Jeeves. I dearly loved Jeeves, an older Golden Retriever who was almost as mellow as Snowball. He played with everybody. Evidently this hadn’t always been the case. His people told us he had gone through a socialization class because he had been extremely aggressive toward other dogs. That class had obviously worked. Jeeves would most certainly win a Mr. Congeniality contest.
It was hard to believe this gentle old dog had ever had aggression problems. Made me think every dog, aggressive or not, should take such a class at the earliest possible age. Anyway, he kind of sauntered around the room greeting everybody. He was gentle, most affectionate, loved to please, and was really cooperative in the playroom. He was just a sweetheart of a dog.
Spike Weimaraner and Jake were still running all over the place and Jeeves joined them. He circled the room with them a time or two and then went into his own thing. His own thing consisted of running at top speed toward a wall, turning just before his face smashed into it, and throwing his entire body against the wall. This made a terrible racket and we counselors worried he would hurt himself. Thank goodness, he only did it once in a while, and he never seemed the worse for wear. We didn’t know why he did this, but he certainly seemed to enjoy it. Was he taking out his former aggression on a wall rather than on another dog? We had no idea.
Having two dogs with the same name in the same room at the same time was always interesting. In this case, we occasionally had to correct the rowdy Spike Weimaraner, so we would call his name and get on his case a little. Meantime, the oh-so-sweet Spike Rottweiler was still in his prone position, not bothering anybody. His head came up, and he looked at us with a what? look on his face. He got a pet and was assured he was not in any trouble. His head went right back down on his paws. Spike Weimaraner, on the other hand, assumed we must not be talking to him and continued his nonsense barking until he got a spritz from the water bottle.
Lunch time was rapidly approaching, and the dogs took up their kitchen-watch stations. It was time to put them back into their crates. Spike R. moseyed on back and got right into his crate. Rowdy as he was, Spike Weimaraner went into his crate with no trouble. Jeeves, on the other hand, was the champion of attempted crate avoidance. I’m not kidding. Jeeves would have been a gold medal winner in this category, if they had one.
Jeeves must have practiced his sad face in a mirror. He looked heartbroken. Come crate time, Jeeves was absolutely pathetic. This was Jeeves the gentle, Jeeves the affectionate, Jeeves who actually obeyed when given a command, yes, Jeeves the always cooperative, Jeeves the happy except at crate time. He was still gentle. He was still affectionate. He still listened. Come crate time, however, Jeeves was definitely not cooperative. He was definitely not happy. In fact, Jeeves developed a serious case of the stubborns at crate time.
He would sit himself down, leaning as hard as he could on the crates behind him.
Jeeves looked at me with his whole expressive face.
“I’m really, really, really sorry. I know my sitting here instead of going into that stupid crate is disappointing to you. I really don’t like to disappoint you. Really, I don’t. The thing of it is, you know, that I hate going in there, and I am just not going to do it. Please don’t be mad at me, and please don’t make me go inside that thing. I’ll be fine out here. Honest. Cross my heart. I won’t cause any problems. I’ll be good as gold, you’ll see. I really, really don’t want to go inside that dumb crate. Aw, geez, I’ll be good right here. Pulee-e-e-z-e don’t make me go in there.”
Jeeves had not only an expressive face. He also had quite a large vocabulary, as you can see.
I gave him a tug. I gave him a hug. I reassured him. I coaxed him. I cajoled him. Eventually his guilt always got the better of him and he sulked his way into the crate. Jeeves never ever went into a crate willingly and I don’t believe he ever will. I dearly loved Jeeves.
You just have to love a good dog even when he’s being incredibly stubborn.
~ More Stuff Happens ~
Sometimes things just occur, over which you have no real control. Much as you think the day will be full of normal doggy behavior, you cannot escape the sneak-up-on-you events. It could be something funny. It might be something not so funny. It might be something so far out that it leaves you scratching your head.
* * * *
One morning, a store employee brought her cat in to work to be groomed. The cat lived with one of the dogs who was in camp that day. She carried the cat over to the Dutch door. She had unescorted access to this door because she was an employee. She was about to open that door and take her cat on in. I was dumbfounded. I told her she absolutely could not go into the playroom with a cat. She calmly informed me that it would be okay because her cat liked dogs. She did not enter the playroom.
Instead, she held the cat up over the half door, in full view of the seven or eight dogs in the playroom. This, of course, was an invitation to all of the dogs to gather ‘round and inspect this unfamiliar critter. I insisted that she immediately take the cat out of the camp area and out of sight of the dogs. She repeated that her cat liked dogs.
“Well, maybe not all these dogs like cats,” I pointed out. She hadn’t thought of that.
Now cats run pretty much neck and neck with dogs as far as me liking them, but even to think about entering a room full of strange dogs with a cat just made no sense to me.
She and her cat reluctantly left the camp area. I assume I’d made my point. Thereafter that cat came in only for grooming and never again got close to the dogs.
* * * *
One afternoon we had a very young dog, Riley, in camp. Riley was a feisty Golden Retriever, about seven months old. She was one who really loved to be around people.
It was getting late and all the other dogs had been picked up. We figured we could start cleaning up as we often did when there was only one dog left. That one dog would follow the counselors around, helping with the chores. I was working in the kitchen, and Chris was vacuuming the playroom. Riley was under the bridge staying out of the way, and we thought that was great.
When her mom came to pick her up, though, Riley stayed under the bridge. She was at the far end of the big playroom. Riley was just watching. This was an unexpected reaction from a dog who usually couldn’t greet her people soon enough.
As soon as the vacuum was turned off, she rocketed out from under the bridge and literally threw herself at her mom. As it turned out, Riley was actually hiding under the bridge. During the first camp interview the fact that Riley was afraid of vacuum cleaners had never come up. Why would it? I’m sure the owners didn’t anticipate vacuuming at camp. Poor Riley.
While the other dogs liked to help, little Riley had been terrified of the vacuum, and we hadn’t realized it. From then on, we made sure any last dog was not unnerved by our chores.
* * * *
Then there was the problem we didn’t even know about for at least a couple of weeks after the fact. We received a reprimand from Corporate, located out of state, because a store customer had complained.
Evidently, she’d been watching the dogs in the playroom, and they looked bored, especially the big white one. She said that a counselor was sitting on the bridge reading and not paying any attention to the dogs. We all wished she had mentioned it at the time.
We didn’t know who the customer was, who the counselor was, or when this had happened. We never got to talk to her. For her to file a complaint with headquarters put everyone at a disadvantage. Had she voiced her concerns at the time we might have been able to straighten it out. It might not have been a problem at all.
The big white dog had to have been Snowball, who always took a lot of naps during play time. The rest of the dogs might have been taking a break at the time. They did get tired. The counselor might have been making notes on the dogs’ paperwork.
How could we fix a problem we didn’t know existed? If it had been a problem at all.
* * * *
Shy little Queenie was in the small playroom with another counselor. I was in the big room with eight rambunctious dogs, all big ones.
Without warning, the other counselor decided it was a good idea to let Queenie into the big room. This was definitely not a good idea. As soon as I saw what was happening I tried to stop it, but it was too late. The big dogs in with me spotted Queenie instantly.
As they always did with a newcomer, they mobbed around her. Poor little Queenie was sitting in a corner quivering, surrounded by a whole slew of excited dogs. She was scared silly and snapping at anyone within reach, her only means of defense. The counselor who had let her into the big room had thought Queenie might like to be in with other dogs.
I was not happy. I pushed my way through the canine welcome committee. I brushed by that counselor and the big dogs until I was able to get close enough to pick up Queenie and carry her out of harm’s way. She and I went back into the smaller room and I stayed with her for the rest of the morning.
One of the things we were told in training was never to pick up a dog when other dogs are present. In this case, I had no choice. I found out why you shouldn’t pick up a dog.
The other dogs jumped all over me trying to get up close to the terrified Queenie. I had to use my entire body, turn it this way and that, and do some quick side-stepping to keep them away from her. I‘m sure they were just curious, but Queenie didn’t know that. She was definitely not a happy camper at that moment. We did make it back to the safety of the small playroom without incident.
After that day all counselors paid attention to exactly which dog was assigned to which room. No dog was ever permanently assigned to the smaller room without good reason.
Queenie never saw the inside of the big room again. That was a good thing for all.
* * * *
Yes, we occasionally had to deal with the unexpected or the unusual, but only once.
More stuff happens. You learn more.
~ Outside In ~
Large glass doors and windows separated the doggy Day Camp from the main store. We would get small audiences off and on throughout the day. Store customers would often stop just to watch the campers zooming around. Several of our camp dogs would trot over to the windows to check out these folks. Most of the dogs would give the people a glance and return to playing immediately.
Not Maggie. This Great Dane loved to check out the people. If it were allowed, she would get right up in the faces of those out in the store. Not only would she trot over to see them, she would jump up on the glass. That alone made people step back a couple of feet. Keep in mind that Maggie stood well over six feet when she was up on her hind legs. When Maggie was feeling particularly feisty, she would jump on the glass and pound it constantly with her front paws, the whole time barking for all she was worth. She had a bark more than worthy of her great size. This absolutely terrified anyone on the other side, and they generally jumped back a
nother couple of feet. When she did this, Maggie looked pretty scary. We simply couldn’t allow her to scare the daylights out of adults, kids, and the occasional puppy-in-tow. We took to escorting Maggie whenever she headed over to the windows, and we always had a lead at the ready in case she got too excited.
When she was up on the window, she was totally focused on barking and didn’t want to be bothered by anyone. If anyone, canine or human, tried to distract her she would fling her head to the side and down, barking at whoever was in her space. Once I startled her by touching her shoulder.
“Ouch!"
She caught my arm while she was in mid-bark. Very minor, just a mark, no broken skin, but to the people outside it must have looked like Maggie was going to rip me to shreds. I showed them my arm, gave the thumbs-up sign to let them know everything was okay. From that point on we all knew to speak to her before we touched her when she was in her ferocious mega-bark mode. It was all for show. Maggie didn’t have an aggressive bone in her.
Snowball also liked to bark at people outside the windows. She had a very deep, very loud, very serious-sounding bark. She was also a pretty good sized dog, a Great Pyrenees, and tended to make people a bit nervous. They had no way of knowing what a softie Snowball really was. She didn’t jump on the windows, though, and wasn’t nearly as threatening as Maggie seemed to be. Snowball was just loud. Her job, as she saw it, was to bark for a minute or so at anything moving on the other side of the glass. This quickly wore her out, and she’d return to her favorite sprawl location once she was satisfied she’d properly done her job. She always did it well.
