I got really busy with early morning tasks Friday morning and just plain forgot the time. Bryn should have been dropped off at Happy Tails Doggie Day Care Center some time ago (drop off times there are from 7:30 to 8:45). Now it was almost nine o’clock a.m.
RATS!
I rang to ask if it was too late to bring her, and Carrie, the dogs’ capable minder, who knew Bryn, told me it was not- if I came right away.
I could be there in less than twenty minutes.
It’s not a good idea to drop off one’s dog at a day care center late. Every canine will have settled in, having quickly learned who’s game for what game, vetted each other’s strengths and weaknesses thoroughly, and exchanged the morning ‘hi, how are ya’ stuff as each animal is delivered to the Center and welcomed into the group. Now, straggler Bryn would have to endure an unnerving inspection by sixteen largish, excited dogs all at once, an important ritual that would test her wisdom and nerve.
Ashamed of my tardiness, I drove there anyway. She really needed the exercise, and everyone would sort things out quickly, wouldn’t they?
Hmmm. I decided to stay for a bit to observe how it went by peering through the hidden window. Dogs do have a complicated language: I love the fascinating challenge of trying to advance enough to understand it.
She rejoiced when she saw the building, but upon entering, was suddenly not so gleeful. They’d picked up her scent and were letting her know, from a distance, that they were stronger, bigger, smarter and faster. Happy Tails was top-heavy with hot air and bravado.
She went through the first office gate and allowed Carrie to escort her to the play area gate, but then, at the last second, gave a nervous whine and tried to turn back. I hardened my face and pointed. “Go play, Bryn.”
Knowing I wouldn’t change my mind, she braced herself and carried on.
The pack, made up of sixteen largish dogs that day, met her at the play gate in complete silence, standing very close together, fur to fur. Carrie, human pack leader for the day, gave quiet, firm verbal commands that echoed her body English. Fall back. The big group grudgingly yielded a few tight inches so the gate could be opened. My overwhelmed dog was inserted and surrounded. Carrie entered too; the gate closed.
Eighteen months of daily visits to dog parks have taught Bryn the finer points of effectively dealing with situations like this.
Here’s what works:
-Stand near a wall/fence, so as not to be surrounded.
-Stay absolutely still. No tail wagging. Instead,
-Hold one’s tail mid-high to exhibit patient acceptance, not timidity or fear.
-Allow the pack to thoroughly inspect one’s bottom.
-Gaze straight ahead- never into another dog’s eyes- and look mildly bored.
-Wait.
I held my breath. For long, uncomfortable seconds nobody moved. Five dogs’ noses hovered over Bryn’s back. Then, the ritual sniffing began. Crowded in tightly by the pack, relying on her acquired wisdom, she waited it out, statue-still. Sixteen dogs checked every part of her, even nosing inside one floppy ear. There were some low growls as two 100-pounders whispered some empty boasts into that same ear: she didn’t react in any way.
Bristling fur gradually flattened to normalcy as the pack’s other biggies lost interest in trying to get a rise out of her and began to look around the room for what new stuff might be fun to check out.
Still she waited, motionless.
More dogs moved off. When only two stragglers were left, Bryn yawned and took a few lazy steps, pretending to sniff the floor. Not once did she meet a canine’s eye.
Close by, Carrie began the ritual of mopping the floor. She’d been monitoring them very closely.
Just like that, pack normalcy returned. Bryn moved around the perimeter at a slow, confident trot before finally pooping on the far side. Two big dogs moved straight to her in a casually intimidating manner, sniffed her droppings, and moved on, somewhat deflated, as she ignored them.
(Her deposit vanished as Carrie pounced with poobag and mop.)
I left, smiling, but not before noticing a nine-month old golden lick Bryn’s nose, inviting her to play. The two began to romp.
My dog had behaved splendidly during that intense vetting, lasting nearly 4 minutes. I was proud of her- yet chastened, knowing I’d ‘read her’ right, but done her wrong.
I’ll work hard to avoid making the ‘late mistake’ again.
RATS!
I rang to ask if it was too late to bring her, and Carrie, the dogs’ capable minder, who knew Bryn, told me it was not- if I came right away.
I could be there in less than twenty minutes.
It’s not a good idea to drop off one’s dog at a day care center late. Every canine will have settled in, having quickly learned who’s game for what game, vetted each other’s strengths and weaknesses thoroughly, and exchanged the morning ‘hi, how are ya’ stuff as each animal is delivered to the Center and welcomed into the group. Now, straggler Bryn would have to endure an unnerving inspection by sixteen largish, excited dogs all at once, an important ritual that would test her wisdom and nerve.
Ashamed of my tardiness, I drove there anyway. She really needed the exercise, and everyone would sort things out quickly, wouldn’t they?
Hmmm. I decided to stay for a bit to observe how it went by peering through the hidden window. Dogs do have a complicated language: I love the fascinating challenge of trying to advance enough to understand it.
She rejoiced when she saw the building, but upon entering, was suddenly not so gleeful. They’d picked up her scent and were letting her know, from a distance, that they were stronger, bigger, smarter and faster. Happy Tails was top-heavy with hot air and bravado.
She went through the first office gate and allowed Carrie to escort her to the play area gate, but then, at the last second, gave a nervous whine and tried to turn back. I hardened my face and pointed. “Go play, Bryn.”
Knowing I wouldn’t change my mind, she braced herself and carried on.
The pack, made up of sixteen largish dogs that day, met her at the play gate in complete silence, standing very close together, fur to fur. Carrie, human pack leader for the day, gave quiet, firm verbal commands that echoed her body English. Fall back. The big group grudgingly yielded a few tight inches so the gate could be opened. My overwhelmed dog was inserted and surrounded. Carrie entered too; the gate closed.
Eighteen months of daily visits to dog parks have taught Bryn the finer points of effectively dealing with situations like this.
Here’s what works:
-Stand near a wall/fence, so as not to be surrounded.
-Stay absolutely still. No tail wagging. Instead,
-Hold one’s tail mid-high to exhibit patient acceptance, not timidity or fear.
-Allow the pack to thoroughly inspect one’s bottom.
-Gaze straight ahead- never into another dog’s eyes- and look mildly bored.
-Wait.
I held my breath. For long, uncomfortable seconds nobody moved. Five dogs’ noses hovered over Bryn’s back. Then, the ritual sniffing began. Crowded in tightly by the pack, relying on her acquired wisdom, she waited it out, statue-still. Sixteen dogs checked every part of her, even nosing inside one floppy ear. There were some low growls as two 100-pounders whispered some empty boasts into that same ear: she didn’t react in any way.
Bristling fur gradually flattened to normalcy as the pack’s other biggies lost interest in trying to get a rise out of her and began to look around the room for what new stuff might be fun to check out.
Still she waited, motionless.
More dogs moved off. When only two stragglers were left, Bryn yawned and took a few lazy steps, pretending to sniff the floor. Not once did she meet a canine’s eye.
Close by, Carrie began the ritual of mopping the floor. She’d been monitoring them very closely.
Just like that, pack normalcy returned. Bryn moved around the perimeter at a slow, confident trot before finally pooping on the far side. Two big dogs moved straight to her in a casually intimidating manner, sniffed her droppings, and moved on, somewhat deflated, as she ignored them.
(Her deposit vanished as Carrie pounced with poobag and mop.)
I left, smiling, but not before noticing a nine-month old golden lick Bryn’s nose, inviting her to play. The two began to romp.
My dog had behaved splendidly during that intense vetting, lasting nearly 4 minutes. I was proud of her- yet chastened, knowing I’d ‘read her’ right, but done her wrong.
I’ll work hard to avoid making the ‘late mistake’ again.