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Weekend at the Kennels: Pt Trois
Aug. 22nd, 2006 06:51 pmAnother weekend at the kennels and not a single dull moment for me. Tery had informed me with sadistic glee that my favorite beagle, Honus, was on the books to spend another weekend with me. Then she called me from the road Friday and said when she left he still hadn't shown up, so perhaps the owners had cancelled. I hoped and prayed, but the minute I pulled into the driveway later that night I could hear his unmistakable yappy, whiny, desperate bark clearly above all the others. I really, really hate that dog.
While receiving additional training from my friend Laura on Thursday, I mentioned him and she commiserated 100%. "That dog's an asshole," she proclaimed. "There's just no other way to put it. He's a real asshole." Laura is a tech and has made the veterinarian field her career, so I felt that my hatred was perfectly justified if even she hated him that much.
When I got downstairs to the kennel area, the first thing I noticed was the asshole had pooped in his cage, causing an almighty stink that had to be making the rest of the dogs crazy. I wasn't trying to be cruel, but my reasoning was he'd already made all the mess he could so it was more logical to get the rest of the dogs walked first before they also made one. I had almost made it through all of them when I absolutely couldn't take the stench anymore and gave Honus his turn a few doors ahead of schedule.
Remembering the battle of wills we had experienced our first weekend together, I thought I'd try a different tack and treat him like a king. Maybe THEN he'd be happy. I switched him from the smaller cage behind the door to an empty run-through double cage. All this meant was that he could bark at me from both sides instead of just one. I noticed the terrier in the kennel above him hadn't touched his afternoon meal at all and, rather than throw all that food out, I slipped it to Honus, who ate it greedily and then immediately resumed barking at me. ASSHOLE. But the last straw came at the end of the night when I let him out not once but twice, figuring he'd eaten so much. Not only did he just pee after gorging himself but when I tried to get him back inside after the second trip, he put up such a fight I can't even tell you. Even though I had a choke leash on him he fought and ran and dodged and slipped between my feet, until I jerked that leash as hard as I could (felt pretty damn good, I'll admit it), whereupon he cowered in the corner but STILL made me drag him bodily back to the cage, and then tried to bite me when I pulled the leash off. What a FUCKING ASSHOLE.
I asked Tery later what could be done about especially disruptive dogs like this. Surely they could require the owners leave him with a bark collar at least. She said all they could do was "politely suggest" sedatives. Because god forbid people ever hear how badly their precious babies misbehave when they're away from home. I promised her if I had to spend every weekend with that fucking dog, I WOULD quit. If I ever own my own kennels, I will accept only cats and ferrets, and that breed of dogs that never barks.
Diametrically opposed to Honus the Fuckwad was a female beagle puppy, Jenny. Jenny was so quiet and unobtrusive that I thought I'd finished the entire ward when I turned and spotted her in a top kennel and my mouth literally dropped open. It was like she'd appeared there by magic or been snuck in behind my back, I had no idea she was there.
Meanwhile, in the cat ward there was a teenaged cat named Baby. Baby was slightly cross-eyed and spent the entire time crouched in the far back corner, eyeing me suspiciously. I got out her bowls and litter box to clean and refill them, leaving the door wide open, figuring she was so nervous and shy she'd stay put. Well, you guessed it, by the time I returned, her cage was as suddenly and magically empty as Jenny's was full. I was fairly sure she couldn't leave the basement of the hospital, but then again I've seen a rat terrier that couldn't have weighed much more than Baby push open the swinging door at the top of the stairs with far less motivation. I swept through the entire floor quickly twice, calling her name even though I realized the odds of her coming to me were about the same as the odds of me ever wanting to adopt Honus. I called Tery for suggestions but evidently everyone else who works there already knows better than to leave a cat's cage wide open. I searched again, reminded of the day we were all packed and ready to leave for our cross-country move to Colorado from Tery's parents' house when we noticed Alsatia had gone missing. Some two hours later she had been discovered deep in the bowels of a sofa, so I knew perfectly well how cats can disappear when they really truly want to. Long story short, I eventually found her way back behind an ancient filing cabinet in the dustiest corner of the recovery room. One more lesson learned the hard way.
Lastly, in my charge was a Shih Tzu puppy no bigger than the palm of my hand. He had some neurological problems, like being unable to lift his head or move his legs properly, etc. I was supposed to feed him every 3 hours, cupping his little body in my hand and mopping him up when I was done, because he was an understandably very messy eater. It was probably after the second feeding that I noticed when he woke up and didn't see me there he would start crying like a newborn baby, rolling over clumsily until he was lying against the door of the cage. I would go over and pet him and murmur to him, and he would eventually fall asleep as long as I kept stroking him. I'll admit, by the time the sun came up I felt myself falling a little in love with him. I mean, look:
I loved the way his Marty Feldman-like eyes gazed in my general direction the whole time he was awake, and his soft, soft baby fur. The doc in charge of his case said he wouldn't make it, but by the time I left he was sitting upright and moving a little more normally, and ultimately got to go home Monday afternoon. I'm sure the doctors had something to do with it, but I can't help feeling that I'd helped just a little bit. And there's that feeling of satisfaction again. Made it possible to forget all about stupid old Honus.
While receiving additional training from my friend Laura on Thursday, I mentioned him and she commiserated 100%. "That dog's an asshole," she proclaimed. "There's just no other way to put it. He's a real asshole." Laura is a tech and has made the veterinarian field her career, so I felt that my hatred was perfectly justified if even she hated him that much.
When I got downstairs to the kennel area, the first thing I noticed was the asshole had pooped in his cage, causing an almighty stink that had to be making the rest of the dogs crazy. I wasn't trying to be cruel, but my reasoning was he'd already made all the mess he could so it was more logical to get the rest of the dogs walked first before they also made one. I had almost made it through all of them when I absolutely couldn't take the stench anymore and gave Honus his turn a few doors ahead of schedule.
Remembering the battle of wills we had experienced our first weekend together, I thought I'd try a different tack and treat him like a king. Maybe THEN he'd be happy. I switched him from the smaller cage behind the door to an empty run-through double cage. All this meant was that he could bark at me from both sides instead of just one. I noticed the terrier in the kennel above him hadn't touched his afternoon meal at all and, rather than throw all that food out, I slipped it to Honus, who ate it greedily and then immediately resumed barking at me. ASSHOLE. But the last straw came at the end of the night when I let him out not once but twice, figuring he'd eaten so much. Not only did he just pee after gorging himself but when I tried to get him back inside after the second trip, he put up such a fight I can't even tell you. Even though I had a choke leash on him he fought and ran and dodged and slipped between my feet, until I jerked that leash as hard as I could (felt pretty damn good, I'll admit it), whereupon he cowered in the corner but STILL made me drag him bodily back to the cage, and then tried to bite me when I pulled the leash off. What a FUCKING ASSHOLE.
I asked Tery later what could be done about especially disruptive dogs like this. Surely they could require the owners leave him with a bark collar at least. She said all they could do was "politely suggest" sedatives. Because god forbid people ever hear how badly their precious babies misbehave when they're away from home. I promised her if I had to spend every weekend with that fucking dog, I WOULD quit. If I ever own my own kennels, I will accept only cats and ferrets, and that breed of dogs that never barks.
Diametrically opposed to Honus the Fuckwad was a female beagle puppy, Jenny. Jenny was so quiet and unobtrusive that I thought I'd finished the entire ward when I turned and spotted her in a top kennel and my mouth literally dropped open. It was like she'd appeared there by magic or been snuck in behind my back, I had no idea she was there.
Meanwhile, in the cat ward there was a teenaged cat named Baby. Baby was slightly cross-eyed and spent the entire time crouched in the far back corner, eyeing me suspiciously. I got out her bowls and litter box to clean and refill them, leaving the door wide open, figuring she was so nervous and shy she'd stay put. Well, you guessed it, by the time I returned, her cage was as suddenly and magically empty as Jenny's was full. I was fairly sure she couldn't leave the basement of the hospital, but then again I've seen a rat terrier that couldn't have weighed much more than Baby push open the swinging door at the top of the stairs with far less motivation. I swept through the entire floor quickly twice, calling her name even though I realized the odds of her coming to me were about the same as the odds of me ever wanting to adopt Honus. I called Tery for suggestions but evidently everyone else who works there already knows better than to leave a cat's cage wide open. I searched again, reminded of the day we were all packed and ready to leave for our cross-country move to Colorado from Tery's parents' house when we noticed Alsatia had gone missing. Some two hours later she had been discovered deep in the bowels of a sofa, so I knew perfectly well how cats can disappear when they really truly want to. Long story short, I eventually found her way back behind an ancient filing cabinet in the dustiest corner of the recovery room. One more lesson learned the hard way.
Lastly, in my charge was a Shih Tzu puppy no bigger than the palm of my hand. He had some neurological problems, like being unable to lift his head or move his legs properly, etc. I was supposed to feed him every 3 hours, cupping his little body in my hand and mopping him up when I was done, because he was an understandably very messy eater. It was probably after the second feeding that I noticed when he woke up and didn't see me there he would start crying like a newborn baby, rolling over clumsily until he was lying against the door of the cage. I would go over and pet him and murmur to him, and he would eventually fall asleep as long as I kept stroking him. I'll admit, by the time the sun came up I felt myself falling a little in love with him. I mean, look:
I loved the way his Marty Feldman-like eyes gazed in my general direction the whole time he was awake, and his soft, soft baby fur. The doc in charge of his case said he wouldn't make it, but by the time I left he was sitting upright and moving a little more normally, and ultimately got to go home Monday afternoon. I'm sure the doctors had something to do with it, but I can't help feeling that I'd helped just a little bit. And there's that feeling of satisfaction again. Made it possible to forget all about stupid old Honus.
