Writing this I’m already in my bathrobe, learning quickly it’s a necessity to come home and immediately place everything I’ve worn into the washer and get into the shower myself. After the first day I figured out what clothes will and won’t work volunteering at the shelter. Sneakers with heavy socks is mandatory, any other shoe I’ve worn with what I thought to be gripping soles didn’t come close to my New Balance running shoes with an extra wide toe box (due to abunion on my right foot). Jeans didn’t work as well as I’d hoped, feeling hot and restrictive, not allowing me to move quickly enough to adapt to a dogs movement or change of direction. Hardy Capri style khaki’s have done the trick. They allow a little air circulation at the legs, but protect my shins and quads. I’m down to wearing two pair though being the only ones I really don’t care if they get scratched or stained.
A long sleeve t-shirt sounds like such a good idea, until you start to sweat and struggle to keep the sleeves pushed up your arms, or realize more fabric is just more area for dog hair to mix with your own sweat and for the smell to be so gross you want a bath much sooner than time will permit. Short sleeve t-shirts seem to work the best, so I’ve been going through all the old t-shirts I have, rotating between four and five that still look respectable enough to leave the house, but in all honesty, don’t bother me at all if they are getting ruined. The shelter has volunteer t-shirts, but they are out of them at present, so I just keep waiting for them to come in so I can buy one and wear it permanently.
I wear an apron when I volunteer to hold the vital necessities; leash, lead (for dogs without collars), spare collars I’ve rummaged from the bin, a rubber brush that works on most coats, dog waste bags, treats, my cell phone, and chap stick. I’ve found these things to absolutely vital while walking every dog, and they keep me from taking away time to stop at my car and get anything personal. I start every day with a fresh and clean apron, which by day’s end is smeared with dander from all the dogs I’ve petted, crumbs from the treats that have been crushed in the deep pockets, hair from the brush and the dogs that will happen no matter what I do, and slightly heavier with my sweat. Several times through the day I need to adjust the apron as it slips down from my waist and hangs on my hips, sagging in front from the weight and no longer fighting to remain spread around my lower body.
Without that shirt, people often think I work at the shelter rather than volunteer. I wouldn’t mind this confusion a bit if it wasn’t for the fact they are still asking questions I’m not sure of yet, and any time I spend listening to their questions, only to have to hunt down a staff member for them, is time I’ve walked away from the kennel I almost had unlocked and the dog that almost got to go for a walk at that moment and now must wait another. For a dog that hasn’t been out yet all day, that moment is excruciating. I’ve always come home dirty from sweating through these still warm fall days, but there’s frequently the dog that is so excited to get from his kennel he or she jumps and jumps and tried to kiss on the mouth to show their gratitude. I know to watch for this now, and as a training tactic I bring up my knee and this pushes the dog backwards and down, and then I praise them when all four paws are on the ground. They really can’t help how excited they become, so I try to channel that energy into their walk, getting to ‘eliminate’ outside their kennel, or just pushing their faces into the tall grass and wildflowers which must feel wonderful to the pups because more of them do this than don’t.
Getting a little mud or dirt on me isn’t a big deal, but today was an initiation of sorts. On M, W, F you should start walking the dogs from the front kennels and work your way backwards. Even with four or more volunteers stopping by one day, it’s possible you won’t be through two rows of dogs, double-decker kennels, before the end of day. So T and Thur you should start walking the dogs from the back kennels. This means there are definitely days dogs do not get out of their kennels for a walk. Even though you’re exhausted from everything you did get done, it’s always hard to walk out at night and realize two rows of dogs don’t know why today wasn’t their day.
So today is Tuesday and I started at the back. We’re supposed to start with the house trained, but that list is hard to keep current when dogs are moved from one kennel to another, for one reason or another, so you just start at the beginning. The kennels are labeled by number and alpha, which is how we track which have been walked and which have not. 78A is a Tybalt, an Australian Shepherd. Tybalt has black hair mostly, but also some brindle coloring and some grey patches near his hind quarters. He’s a bit older and very docile. He acts a bit surprised he’s getting a walk, but submissively lowers his head near the kennel door so I can slip the lead around his neck. I checked my pockets for a collar that might fit, but I don’t have one, so the lead is all I can use for Tybalt, but he’s calm and won’t pull too much and seems to be ok with this arrangement.
Getting the dogs in and out of the kennels quickly is key to keeping a peaceful row of kennel dogs. They watch you as soon as they can see you, look to see which kennel you might be stopping at, and if they see the key come out a choir of off-tune angels breaks into a chorus of ‘Me, Me, Me….ooo Pick me!” which you hear from their barks. Dogs which otherwise hadn’t peeped a sound are now highly engaged in letting you know they too want to get out and they too need your attention. The longer it takes to get a dog out of their kennel, either because they back away from you and take some coxing, or because they are on a second level kennel and not sure how to get down now that they have their chance, the louder the howling seems to get.
I’m becoming deft at extracting and replacing the pups, but these are dogs stressed by a kennel environment, there is no way to know which will bolt to escape, yanking your arm with them, or which will finally talk back to their noisy neighbor face to face and a snarl contest begins, or which will squat and pee right there (or worse) because of their stress. Best you can hope for is a lock that opens easily, as many of them don’t, a collar on the dog or a dog willing to have the lead slipped over their neck, and a willing walker that comes out without convincing and is ready to go. The really smart dogs keep their heads down and let me lead them to the nearest door. The energetic or slightly confused will spread all four wide and try to get their bearings and run this way and that way trying to see their way clear.
I’m trying to direct them all the time, avoiding the wet slippery floor they may already have skidded on, watching for the people in the aisles looking at dogs who just want to touch one so bad they won’t realize how awkward that would be with this dog I’m trying to take on a walk, and just start walking. Tybalt was a pro at this, either because he’s been at the shelter long enough or just because he’s old enough to know a routine works one way best and lets me lead him into it. No matter, we’re out the door and on our walk and he’s heeled to the lead like a champion.
A walk for these dogs is different than for my Labrador at home. These dogs will eliminate as quickly as possible, so it’s imperative to get them away from the building and over to the grassy fence area, or we’d have dog urine in droves by each door. Once in the overgrown grass around the fence, with paws safely resting on fallen leaves, you’ll find out just how much of that dog was bladder, or how long they tried to hold it for the hopes of getting outside to relieve themselves. For Tybalt, it was a hind-leg lift and a full release of a day’s worth of water. Although I saw no real change is his overall body language, as some dogs leap and bound after a release such as this, Tybalt just seemed to grin slightly and the skin around his eyes relaxed telling me he had been slightly strained but now he’s calmly reposed.
On average, I’ll have Tybalt out of his kennel for 20 minutes as we walk around the shelter grounds, he finds a spot to do number two, and I stop us under the pine tree out front to see how he likes pet-therapy – that is, allows me to pet him – and bring out the brush. Then it’s continuing the circuit, coming around the other side of the shelter, past the outside kennels which often house rowdy-fence-guarding-dogs, and up the slight incline to the back of the shelter. The back of the shelter is the hardest part of the walk because keen dogs will realize this is the end of their walk. I also may have to walk past Animal Control trucks bringing in more dogs or cats (or roosters, rabbits, reptiles, etc) or the refrigeration trucks. Either of these are hard for me to walk past because I know the first truck brings in animals with slim hope of adoption. The refrigeration truck brings in roadkill dogs and cats, animals found abandoned and left to die, and pets used as bait dogs by fighting rings and also, left to die of their wounds. Those are brought to the back and loaded into one of two incinerators and operate daily. This same incinerator takes the euthanized animals from the shelter no one would adopt. Despite being harmless animals willing to give love unconditionally, they’ve been put down out of lack of a home. So walking the dogs past this area is depressing and deflating, and reminds me to focus on the one dog on this lead that I can try to help as much as I can. Tybalt goes back in his kennel quite calmly, drinks water, takes the last treat I have to give, and turns around three times and lays down in the corner. The floor of his kennel is still damp from having been hosed out earlier, but given the humidity and heat today, likely feels good on Tybalt’s skin that would love a bath if only we had time to give one.
Without stopping, I walk back to the white board at the other end of the room and mark 78A as “WTue” to show he got a walk today, and any other volunteer can focus on those squares with nothing written in them. The white board is divided into squares, like a calendar, and we write up when one of the dogs has been walked. It’s gratifying when an entire row is marked off, but disheartening when you see three more rows with nothing in them. But without wasting time I pump hand sanitizer into my palms, fill up my Ziploc bag with donated treats (this week is some sort of a ginger or peanut butter cookie) and turn on heels to head back to my row.
A long sleeve t-shirt sounds like such a good idea, until you start to sweat and struggle to keep the sleeves pushed up your arms, or realize more fabric is just more area for dog hair to mix with your own sweat and for the smell to be so gross you want a bath much sooner than time will permit. Short sleeve t-shirts seem to work the best, so I’ve been going through all the old t-shirts I have, rotating between four and five that still look respectable enough to leave the house, but in all honesty, don’t bother me at all if they are getting ruined. The shelter has volunteer t-shirts, but they are out of them at present, so I just keep waiting for them to come in so I can buy one and wear it permanently.
I wear an apron when I volunteer to hold the vital necessities; leash, lead (for dogs without collars), spare collars I’ve rummaged from the bin, a rubber brush that works on most coats, dog waste bags, treats, my cell phone, and chap stick. I’ve found these things to absolutely vital while walking every dog, and they keep me from taking away time to stop at my car and get anything personal. I start every day with a fresh and clean apron, which by day’s end is smeared with dander from all the dogs I’ve petted, crumbs from the treats that have been crushed in the deep pockets, hair from the brush and the dogs that will happen no matter what I do, and slightly heavier with my sweat. Several times through the day I need to adjust the apron as it slips down from my waist and hangs on my hips, sagging in front from the weight and no longer fighting to remain spread around my lower body.
Without that shirt, people often think I work at the shelter rather than volunteer. I wouldn’t mind this confusion a bit if it wasn’t for the fact they are still asking questions I’m not sure of yet, and any time I spend listening to their questions, only to have to hunt down a staff member for them, is time I’ve walked away from the kennel I almost had unlocked and the dog that almost got to go for a walk at that moment and now must wait another. For a dog that hasn’t been out yet all day, that moment is excruciating. I’ve always come home dirty from sweating through these still warm fall days, but there’s frequently the dog that is so excited to get from his kennel he or she jumps and jumps and tried to kiss on the mouth to show their gratitude. I know to watch for this now, and as a training tactic I bring up my knee and this pushes the dog backwards and down, and then I praise them when all four paws are on the ground. They really can’t help how excited they become, so I try to channel that energy into their walk, getting to ‘eliminate’ outside their kennel, or just pushing their faces into the tall grass and wildflowers which must feel wonderful to the pups because more of them do this than don’t.
Getting a little mud or dirt on me isn’t a big deal, but today was an initiation of sorts. On M, W, F you should start walking the dogs from the front kennels and work your way backwards. Even with four or more volunteers stopping by one day, it’s possible you won’t be through two rows of dogs, double-decker kennels, before the end of day. So T and Thur you should start walking the dogs from the back kennels. This means there are definitely days dogs do not get out of their kennels for a walk. Even though you’re exhausted from everything you did get done, it’s always hard to walk out at night and realize two rows of dogs don’t know why today wasn’t their day.
So today is Tuesday and I started at the back. We’re supposed to start with the house trained, but that list is hard to keep current when dogs are moved from one kennel to another, for one reason or another, so you just start at the beginning. The kennels are labeled by number and alpha, which is how we track which have been walked and which have not. 78A is a Tybalt, an Australian Shepherd. Tybalt has black hair mostly, but also some brindle coloring and some grey patches near his hind quarters. He’s a bit older and very docile. He acts a bit surprised he’s getting a walk, but submissively lowers his head near the kennel door so I can slip the lead around his neck. I checked my pockets for a collar that might fit, but I don’t have one, so the lead is all I can use for Tybalt, but he’s calm and won’t pull too much and seems to be ok with this arrangement.
Getting the dogs in and out of the kennels quickly is key to keeping a peaceful row of kennel dogs. They watch you as soon as they can see you, look to see which kennel you might be stopping at, and if they see the key come out a choir of off-tune angels breaks into a chorus of ‘Me, Me, Me….ooo Pick me!” which you hear from their barks. Dogs which otherwise hadn’t peeped a sound are now highly engaged in letting you know they too want to get out and they too need your attention. The longer it takes to get a dog out of their kennel, either because they back away from you and take some coxing, or because they are on a second level kennel and not sure how to get down now that they have their chance, the louder the howling seems to get.
I’m becoming deft at extracting and replacing the pups, but these are dogs stressed by a kennel environment, there is no way to know which will bolt to escape, yanking your arm with them, or which will finally talk back to their noisy neighbor face to face and a snarl contest begins, or which will squat and pee right there (or worse) because of their stress. Best you can hope for is a lock that opens easily, as many of them don’t, a collar on the dog or a dog willing to have the lead slipped over their neck, and a willing walker that comes out without convincing and is ready to go. The really smart dogs keep their heads down and let me lead them to the nearest door. The energetic or slightly confused will spread all four wide and try to get their bearings and run this way and that way trying to see their way clear.
I’m trying to direct them all the time, avoiding the wet slippery floor they may already have skidded on, watching for the people in the aisles looking at dogs who just want to touch one so bad they won’t realize how awkward that would be with this dog I’m trying to take on a walk, and just start walking. Tybalt was a pro at this, either because he’s been at the shelter long enough or just because he’s old enough to know a routine works one way best and lets me lead him into it. No matter, we’re out the door and on our walk and he’s heeled to the lead like a champion.
A walk for these dogs is different than for my Labrador at home. These dogs will eliminate as quickly as possible, so it’s imperative to get them away from the building and over to the grassy fence area, or we’d have dog urine in droves by each door. Once in the overgrown grass around the fence, with paws safely resting on fallen leaves, you’ll find out just how much of that dog was bladder, or how long they tried to hold it for the hopes of getting outside to relieve themselves. For Tybalt, it was a hind-leg lift and a full release of a day’s worth of water. Although I saw no real change is his overall body language, as some dogs leap and bound after a release such as this, Tybalt just seemed to grin slightly and the skin around his eyes relaxed telling me he had been slightly strained but now he’s calmly reposed.
On average, I’ll have Tybalt out of his kennel for 20 minutes as we walk around the shelter grounds, he finds a spot to do number two, and I stop us under the pine tree out front to see how he likes pet-therapy – that is, allows me to pet him – and bring out the brush. Then it’s continuing the circuit, coming around the other side of the shelter, past the outside kennels which often house rowdy-fence-guarding-dogs, and up the slight incline to the back of the shelter. The back of the shelter is the hardest part of the walk because keen dogs will realize this is the end of their walk. I also may have to walk past Animal Control trucks bringing in more dogs or cats (or roosters, rabbits, reptiles, etc) or the refrigeration trucks. Either of these are hard for me to walk past because I know the first truck brings in animals with slim hope of adoption. The refrigeration truck brings in roadkill dogs and cats, animals found abandoned and left to die, and pets used as bait dogs by fighting rings and also, left to die of their wounds. Those are brought to the back and loaded into one of two incinerators and operate daily. This same incinerator takes the euthanized animals from the shelter no one would adopt. Despite being harmless animals willing to give love unconditionally, they’ve been put down out of lack of a home. So walking the dogs past this area is depressing and deflating, and reminds me to focus on the one dog on this lead that I can try to help as much as I can. Tybalt goes back in his kennel quite calmly, drinks water, takes the last treat I have to give, and turns around three times and lays down in the corner. The floor of his kennel is still damp from having been hosed out earlier, but given the humidity and heat today, likely feels good on Tybalt’s skin that would love a bath if only we had time to give one.
Without stopping, I walk back to the white board at the other end of the room and mark 78A as “WTue” to show he got a walk today, and any other volunteer can focus on those squares with nothing written in them. The white board is divided into squares, like a calendar, and we write up when one of the dogs has been walked. It’s gratifying when an entire row is marked off, but disheartening when you see three more rows with nothing in them. But without wasting time I pump hand sanitizer into my palms, fill up my Ziploc bag with donated treats (this week is some sort of a ginger or peanut butter cookie) and turn on heels to head back to my row.
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