Even A Monkey Has a 50% Chance . . .

The kennel I work at is a family owned business; a fact, which I’ve discovered, is both positive and negative. Positive because it lacks the political atmosphere of a corporate job but sometimes a negative because it also lacks the tested procedures and bank account. Normally I assume something will go wrong at least once during the week, that something will break or some dog will have a problem with the staff. June has been surprisingly disastrous. Bad luck I guess . . . I hope July is better. Anyway, here’s a list of all the things that have happened so far this month – just because I find it funny. Hopefully this will be the end of it.

1.Our dryer/laundry machine guy has been out to see us no fewer than 5 times due to dead machines. As a result we were down to 10 clean towels one weekend – you’ll understand the horror of this statement when I tell you it takes 5 full size garbage cans to hold all our blankets, and that we have over 60 towels. Agh. The smell. Agh. The laundry.

2.One of our washers permanently died. Rest in peace o hated one.

3.All, and I mean all, of our dog aggressive and people aggressive dogs came in and boarded. At the same time. And I babysit the volunteers. Please, feel my pain. By themselves, the dogs are tolerable. All together it’s just one gigantic jigsaw puzzle.

4.Our gas line broke and was leaking gas. As a result the gas was turned off, which meant no dryers, which meant I had to string up leashes across the laundry room and turn a fan on to deal with the wet laundry. Again, not a nice smell. Luckily the gas was fixed by the end of the day.

5.The computers died – not unusual, one is usually acting up. But this time both of them decided they weren’t going to take any form of payment or print any document. Our customers loved that.

6.The electricity in half the kennel went out for an entire day. No water, no air conditioner, no lights. It’s a good thing there’s a house on the property.

On a positive note. All of the dogs came and went without any problems; every dog and cat went home with all of their limbs and none of them were stressed or freaking out. I take that as a good sign. But I also hope July won’t be so problematic.

As I'm walking dogs out to their yards in the early morning hours, before the sun has even risen, rain soaking into my jacket and mud seeping into my shoes I think to myself, "Yup. I'm crazy for doing this." Then as I wrestle a big chocolate lab back into its suite and bang my elbows and knees I think, "Definitely crazy." After the dog walking is over and we all pause for breath my coworker looks over at me and starts laughing. Mozes, in his mad attempt to avoid the leash, kicked up mud all over my face. I wipe it off thankful that at least this time someone told me and didn't let me walk around with it all day. But I still smell like wet dog and decomposing leaves and there's just nothing to be done about that. And when I finally coax scared little Sophie out of her suite and put the leash around her without any snapping or growling and she lets me scratch her tummy, I suddenly don't mind any of it. Not the 5:30 wake up call, the mud or the bruises, and that's when I really know I'm not just a little bit crazy, I'm certifiably so.

I’ve recently discovered that I belong to a rather odd circle of people among the dog owning community. The group of old dog owners. If your dog is 9 or older you probably belong to it too. If you don’t own a dog you’re probably wondering what on earth I mean, but if you own an old dog or have owned one, most likely you understand. Here’s a few ways to tell if you belong to our eccentric group:

1.You find yourself doing things you said you’d never do. This one’s pretty inescapable and guaranteed to strike. For instance, “I’ll never put clothes on my dog” or “Dogs are fine on just dry dog food.” Years later, while you’re putting a coat on your dog so it can go out in the snow or while you’re mixing its special dinner and pills together you realize that yes, you’ve been made a fool by your dog.

2.The idea of getting a puppy is less appealing than it used to be because, hey, that old dog knows just who you are and how you live your life and a puppy will have to learn his company is appreciated during movie time and not dinner time, that the fluffy pink thing is okay to play with but the hand knitted afghan is not.

3.You unconsciously begin catering to your pet. One day you look around and realize you’ve added a dog bed to every room, that you lift the dog up instead of letting them jump, or that you’ve started getting water for them instead of making them go downstairs to the dish. Basically, you’re a doggie maid and probably a rather happy one.

4.Every sneeze and new bump is carefully accessed with suspicion and your vet begins to know your home phone number by heart.

5.You share an unusual camaraderie with other elderly doggie owners. I especially notice this because of where I work. Owners bring their old dogs in and begin apologizing because of the special care required and all I have to do is nod and say, “Don’t worry about it, my sheltie’s eleven,” and suddenly peace of mind is reached and the instructions given.

6.You’re less inclined to go on vacations the dog can’t go on.

7.You’re more likely to chastise someone for annoying the dog than you are for messing up your recently cleaned kitchen.

8.Most of the time you call your dog by something other than it’s real name, some nickname or shortened version of its name and the dog has learned to come more swiftly to that name because it means treats or affection are within reach.

9.Playtime, which you used to think would never end, you now have to regulate because that silly dog just doesn’t know when to quit.

10.But mostly, elderly dog owners tend to stare at the furry thing sitting next to them and wonder just how it managed to sneak its way into their lives so completely.

People are funny. Sometimes even their peculiarities, which would normally be annoying, are incredibly funny. Say, like in the animal industry. Dog owners can be quite ridiculous. Ridiculous and hilarious.

Some owners come in and drop their pets off without much of a fuss. Some don’t. Those are the funny ones. I can understand being worried about leaving your pet in someone else’s care but there comes a point when you just have to let go. Let your pet live its life!! Feel the wind!! Improve your karma! That kind of thing. Some owners just can’t do it.

At the kennel we try to do exactly what the owner tells us to do concerning their dog, so no matter how strange we find something to be we’re always game to try it at least once. We stop when we realize the dog thinks we’re crazy. I bet you’re wishing you had an example right about now. Well, I’ve got some. ;)

This German couple comes in and drops off their beagle and lab, very nice couple, a little clingy, but nice. They tell us that the dogs won’t eat their food unless they are given a signal to eat. I’m always a little skeptical when owners tell me this because usually, once the dog realizes you’ve put the food bowl down, that you’ve walked away and that you aren’t about to jump around the corner and yell at it for cheating, they’ll eat their food anyway. But the owners insist that the dogs won’t eat unless we put the bowls down, snap our fingers, and say ‘go!’ so we dutifully nod and jot it all down. As soon as they leave I tell my coworker Sally that she’s not allowed to feed those dogs unless I’m present. I have got to see this! Feeding time comes around and all of us gather round the dogs suite, some of us prepared to be amazed, others about to burst out laughing. Sally, true to the owner’s commands, fills the bowls and places each one before its respective dog. Then she snaps energetically and cries “Go!” The dogs look at her, then the food bowls, then back at her like, “What’s she doing? Is this a new game? I’m confused.” Sally tries again. The dogs look even more confused. While we laugh, Sally exits and the dogs dig in. Guess I won’t be snap and ‘go’ing when it’s my turn to feed them.

One week we had these two goldens whose card read: “Yell Hungry Hungry Hippos to call them in from the yard”. Uh huh, right . . . Later Molly comes in and we start talking about the dogs. I mention the two goldens and she immediately says, “Yeah, and they do not come in if you yell Hungry Hungry Hippos.” I smiled and resisted laughing. Molly and I wonder whether the owners don’t make this stuff up sometimes just to see if we’ll do it. We will, at least once. But we’ll feel really dumb while we do it and even dumber when the dog looks at us like we’re idiots. Truthfully, a dog could be taught to come in at the sound of the game phrase, but these two didn’t have a clue. Made me wonder if the owners still liked their command choice or if they were regretting it a little bit - it’s not something you really want to have to yell at the doggy park. Most people just use ‘come’ – boring maybe, but a little less stare worthy.

Another highly fascinating and wildly diverse aspect of doggy life is a dog’s diet. No kidding. Some dogs get the normal dry or wet food and are perfectly happy. Some get a gourmet feast. The owners are usually pretty precise about how they want their dog fed. A cup of dry mixed with 1/3 of wet and 1/2 of semi-moist plus 2 tablespoons of gravy (I’m not joking, I’ve prepared it several times). One of our standard poodles gets a hamburger, bun and all, for lunch and dinner (she used to get steak for dinner but her parents cut her back). Or a Dogue de Bordeaux that gets a tube of turkey meat and two cups of freshly cut salad at each meal; the salad even has cucumbers, carrots, and peppers in it. I always wonder how much time his owner spends preparing his meals each week and how much his grocery bill costs. That’s a lot of turkey meat. Maybe she buys in bulk or keeps an eye on turkey meat sales in the neighborhood. Either way, those dogs love their food; I’d like a hamburger too actually, but I’ll pass on the turkey meat.

I’m just waiting for an owner to come in and tell me, “Now Fifi won’t go potty unless you do jazz hands in front of her.” Maybe I’ll pull a practical joke on one of my coworkers and write it on one of the dog’s cards. I bet they’d do it, they’d laugh but they’d do it, at least once. ;)

When I was in college I took a farm production class where we were able to work with a variety of farm animals. One of the animals I wanted to work with was sheep. I like sheep; for me, seeing them in person and observing their behavior really brought new meaning to the scriptures. When we went in with the animals we always had to wear huge rubber boots and these outfits that were highly reminiscent of a plumber’s uniform – everything had to be washable so that there would be no transference between the farms. Anyways, needless to say, the boots were somewhat awkward to move in and we usually had to wear plastic booties over them, making them even more slippery and cumbersome.

On one of the first days we began working with the sheep we all climbed over the fence to stand in the midst of twenty or so sheep (which doesn’t sound too hard until you turn into a 5’2 shorty and realize the fence is at chest or shoulder height, plus the large poop suit and slippery boots . . . then you’ll worry quite a bit about falling over). When sheep move they tend to move as one unit, if one becomes separated from the others then it will try its best to get back to them. So we all climb in and the group rushes off to the far corner of the pen. My professor talked to us about them and then divided us up to let us practice moving the sheep in the direction we wanted. Everything was going pretty smoothly until some of my fellow students moved in a different direction and caused ten or so sheep to rush up behind me. I ended up getting pulled forward by them until my professor caught the back of my plumber’s uniform and pulled me back out. If you get caught in the middle of them it’s surprisingly hard to move in any direction but the one they’re going in.

Working with sheep was very enjoyable however. In my opinion they are one of the better smelling farm animals and generally they’re not very aggressive. During college I also got to work with horses, dairy and beef cows, and chickens (luckily I didn’t have to work with pigs very much – what little exposure I got to them clearly told me that was not the industry I wanted to go into). The chickens weren’t my favorite either, but the cows were enjoyable and I mean really, who doesn’t like horses? Horses probably have one of the best smells to them. I never realized what ‘dog’ smelled like till I started working in a dog kennel. Now I am quite aware that dogs definitely have their own unique odor but I don’t really mind it as long as it’s not the muddy, drool encrusted kind (that smell, trust me, you don’t want it). And this is how you know I’m an animal geek; I’ve begun to talk about species odor on my blog. Ok, I’m going to end this before it gets even weirder, though I doubt that’s actually possible.

Most of the time, I try to approach my work and the way in which it is managed with a sense of humor (after all, I scoop poop for a living; my only other option is to rot in despair). So when I see the owners or the managers doing things I find idiotic I usually just laugh it off. Employees disagree with their managers at some time or another. I think that’s pretty much a universal truth. Today, however, I find myself somewhat shocked by the degree to which my employer, my managers and I differ. I feel like I’m someone with a decent amount of common sense and generally speaking, I expect other people to use their brains as well. I’m slowly coming to expect that less and less.

Anyway, when I went in to work today I immediately noticed a very chemically smell to the kennel. Not too unusual since the owner has everyone sanding and painting the whole place. So I walked around and saw one of my fellow coworkers, who for the sake of anonymity we’ll call Joe, working on stripping the tiling off one of the hallways. Another ‘improvement’ the owner is making (don’t get me started on the ‘improvements’). I didn't think much of it at the time except that he should probably have been wearing a mask to try and keep some of the fumes out of his lungs, but we had no masks to my knowledge so I moved on. Later Joe took a break and came up to chat, telling me how the chemical caused a burning sensation whenever he got it on his skin. I asked him if he’d washed it off and he said yes and then I asked him if he’d read the warning label for the chemical. Silly me, who reads warning labels? Of course he hadn’t. He’s using a chemical that peels flooring glue off of concrete in a matter of seconds and didn’t even bother to read the warning label! So per my suggestion he went and got the bottle and began reading the warnings. Not only can it blind you if you get it in your eyes but it can also cause soft tissue damage when exposed to skin, is fatal if ingested, and harmful if inhaled. Yes, this sounds safe. No safety goggles, no mask, just a pair of rubber gloves and a short sleeved shirt.

What really kind of ticked me off about it is that Joe isn’t the smartest of young men and it’s a common fact. Everyone at the kennel knows that. So why on earth did the owner of the kennel hand him a dangerous chemical and not provide any warnings or any mandatory safety precautions? It’s almost like she just handed him a bomb, smiled and said “Here, use with care.” Smile, smile. Maybe not quite that bad but still, what was she thinking? The answer . . . ta-dah! She wasn’t. Not only did she not say anything to him about it but he later informed me that when she first gave it to him he just poured it on a cloth and tried it on the floor without wearing any gloves – needless to say he asked for some when his hands started burning! I just don’t understand the kind of thoughtlessness involved. One of the managers was working this morning as well and she didn’t say anything to him about finding a mask, even though the fumes from the chemicals are filling up the hallway – and even if a mask wouldn’t protect against the fumes he should at least have something to prevent all of the dust and dirt from getting in his lungs.

Anyway, I called the owner and told her she needed to buy some masks and she informed me there were some at the kennel. Why didn’t I know this? Why wasn’t Joe told? Why hadn’t she informed the employees they needed to be wearing them when they were sanding and cleaning the building? It’s not a new building; I wouldn’t trust that there isn’t anything harmful in it. Needless to say I went and pulled the masks out of a suspiciously trash-like bag and gave one to Joe.

What really aggravates me is that the majority of her employees are either high school students or they are just barely out of high school. They have no common sense. When I work I’m usually keeping an eye on them to make sure they’re not going to get themselves bit or injured in some way. Several of them have commented on the fact that I can deal with the difficult dogs without getting bit like the rest of them – that just makes me frustrated, because if she educated her employees a little more about dog behavior they wouldn’t be getting bit as much.

Yet here they are, obliviously touching potentially dangerous chemicals without being forewarned. It’s irresponsible. And yet, I know, the owner isn’t doing it maliciously. She’s just trying to get the most work done for the least amount of money. Why hire professionals when you can pay someone eight bucks an hour to do it? At the very least however, the kids should be safe. She’s not thinking. If she was she wouldn’t have handed the bottle to Joe and gone, ‘here: work good, last long time.’ Yarg. Human stupidity amazes me. Usually I’m just laughing about her lack of managing skills or seemingly silly business practices, but today really bothered me. I’m not even a manager and yet I’m the one wanting some safety precautions to be enforced? All the dogs are treated wonderfully and most of her employees do good work so shouldn’t she be thinking of their welfare a little more? So all you people out there, please, please, please, use your brain.

There are some breeds of dogs that I don’t personally care to see at the kennel. Weimaraners and vizlas are at the top. Some, admittedly, are polite and well trained; the perfect companion, I welcome those with tears of joy. The majority are hyped up lunatics. Take Moses for example. Moses is a vizla. All wiggles, he is undeniably very friendly and cute. But I also know that whenever he comes in I’ll be going home with bruises. He has no manners and his greetings leave a little something to be desired – most notably, personal space. I am quite used to dogs sniffing me at this point, and a kiss on the face hardly bothers me – I’ll still wipe it off but it doesn’t register anywhere on the gross out scale like it used to. No, when it comes to Moses, kisses and noses aren’t the problem, its legs and limbs spasmodically waving around my face in unpredictable patterns. As long as the leash is on he’s fairly well behaved but as soon as you let him out into the play yard he transforms into a lunatic. Vizlas are all muscle and bone and Moses can run with the best of them, so when he comes gunning for you in his usual overly eager manner there’s just no stopping him.

I understand why people like the breed – they’re happy dogs and if you like to do lots of out door activities and have lots of energy they’re great companions. But they’re not for the bookworm or anybody without extra time on their hands. Plus, unless you enjoy looking like you’re a common street brawler, training is highly recommended.

We always treat the dogs at the kennel as gently and lovingly as possible, they all belong to someone who loves them and for that person they fulfill a spot in their heart that probably won’t quite be filled in the same way. They’re important. I don’t blame Moses, and I don’t dislike him – he’s got a personality that’s impossible to wholly dislike - I just usually prefer not to have to walk him or endure one of his greetings. Usually when these dogs come in I find myself wishing I could have a heart to heart with their owners and explain to them what some proper training and exercise could do for their lives. I doubt the owners like getting smacked in the face, unless of course they belong to a boxing club or something, then I guess it might add to their street cred.

Today I had one very submissive puppy urinate on my shoe and it didn't even bother me that much. Some one save me.

Since I hardly ever have anything important to say I've decided that my updates will consist of animal stories. Tah-dah!

Doggy Tails

Sam is a golden retriever. Around four years old and seventy pounds he’s a good-natured sweetheart, with a very unusual habit. My first encounter with Sam occurred when I entered his kennel to give him some one-on-one playtime. As soon as I squeezed through the entryway he grabbed up his stuffed doggy and wagged furiously. This behavior isn’t exactly uncommon. In a kennel, I’m the most popular being in the room – yes, it is rather nice to be so blindly loved. What was unusual about Sam, however, was the high pitched dying noise he emitted as soon as I touched him. This wasn’t the ‘oh, I’m so starved for attention’ whine that lots of the dogs will emit when you look at them twice. This was an ear damagingly loud, back of the throat keening sound. Needless to say I was quite startled, and as it was my first week, I looked about the hallway fearing my coworkers would come running with the idea that I was brutally beating one of our canine guests. Thinking he would calm down after the initial excitement had worn off I continued to pet him. He didn’t stop. I tried everything, I scratched his neck, rubbed his tummy, spoke sweetly. Still he cried like the world was ending and the sky was falling. At some point between trying to sweet talk him into quiescence and worrying over his poor vocal chords one of the other workers walked past and laughed, explaining that, ‘that’s just Sam.’ So apparently poor Sam has always acted this way. But it did make me wonder exactly how he had developed such an odd behavior. Holding something in the mouth is normal for dogs – it’s like sucking a thumb for toddlers – it’s comforting. Holding a toy and crying while being pet is rather unusual. He didn’t want me to stop petting him either; I tried that, thinking perhaps all the attention was just too much, I mean, I am a pretty overwhelming individual. When I stopped he dropped the toy and came after me, when I started petting him again he grabbed it right back up and started crying. Frankly, Sam was kind of endearingly pathetic - a cute, pathetic, puzzling mystery and I have no clue how he managed to develop such a neurotic behavior. My guess is that he was just too over stimulated, with all the new smells and noises. But I really have no idea. Maybe his owners somehow inadvertently taught him that - if they did then they've got untapped talent - I didn't even know that noise could be made by a dog.