A dog's trial

Having a special-needs dog when working as an administrator at a school is not always the best reference point.

Too often, I find myself internally commiserating with a parent or teacher about a child's frustrating behavior. Not because I'm a parent myself, but because Marlo's issues are often so very toddler-like, and the expert guidance is often similar: be consistent; be loving but firm; be clear about your expectations; celebrate when they've done something good; overlook the little mistakes, and give them a time-out for the big ones.

I completely understand that these parallels between child and dog could be insulting to any reasonable parent, so I bite my tongue each time I hear about an energetic young person who just needs to "run it off" on the playground before the parents can get anything done on the weekends. I've never once suggested anyone buy a Chuck-It for child use, though sometimes I fantasize myself asking, "Have you ever filled one of those rubber Kongs with peanut butter and frozen it? That keeps Marlo occupied for hours...")

I work at a private school where families must apply for admission. They write essays, tour the school, and have individual interviews with the admissions team while their children are observed in a classroom setting. The anxiety of many of these families is palpable. They desperately want their son or daughter to behave well, to appear smart and to play well with others, so that our school is an option for them. 

Mike and I recently learned firsthand how nervewrecking this is...

After Marlo came home hoarse and traumatized from his recent stay (during our wedding) at a mediocre kennel, we decided enough was enough. We were eager to plan a honeymoon, but refused to leave him there again. We'd heard great things about a kennel in the East Bay run by dog trainers who have a very "dog-centered" approach. And as soon as we called for an introduction appointment, we entered the equivalent of the admissions nightmare.

On our assigned trial visit day, we grabbed Marlo's file and the three of us headed across the Bay Bridge. When we turned onto the kennel's street, Marlo started whining hysterically. He could smell dogs in the air, and his excitement (anxiety?) raged out of control. I could feel my own heart racing. What if he behaves terribly? What if he won't stop barking? What if they won't take him!?!??

We sat down to fill out paperwork while Marlo's whimpers reached a crescendo. What type of food does he eat? Nature's Variety. Has he ever been boarded before? Yes, but we didn't think it was a good place for him. Is he on medication? No, but we're seriously considering Xanax...now. Is there anything special we should know? Er, that our dog is a completely lovable basketcase who has imprisoned us in our home and we desperately need you to accept him please, oh please, because otherwise we'll never get to go on a honeymoon...ever?!?!?

The kennel director kindly took Marlo's leash and handed him to a trainer for his assessment while Mike and I joined 6 other dog-parents in a cramped room to hear about the overview and approach of the kennel. The session was inspiring! It resonated with everything we wanted for our dog. We fell more and more in love with this kennel, and simultaneously more and more certain that Marlo was ruining his evaluation.We exchanged worried glances each time a high-pitched bark rang out. There were dozens of dogs in the building, but we were positive it was Marlo each time we heard a piercing woof.

A tour followed, and the facilities were fabulous. Clean (and clean smelling!), spacious and airy, with many different indoor and outdoor playfields where appropriately-grouped dogs played many hours each day. Our awe increased when we were told, "sometimes our sep-anx dogs stay with the person on the night shift if they don't want to sleep in their rooms. They'll walk with the counselor on rounds and hang out at the desk until morning." Hallelujah! A place that truly understands dogs individual needs, and supports each appropriately!

By the time the 45 minute tour ended, I was near sick with worry. We NEEDED this amazing kennel for Marlo (I could practically feel the warm Hawaiian sand beneath my toes) but what if he'd blown it?

The trainer came out with the first dog and began to give her glowing report in front of the entire tour group. Mike and I shrank back to the chairs by the door. We didn't want to hear our fate condemned in public, preferring to deal with our humiliation and disappointment at the impending "NO" verdict away from the superior stares of owners with perfectly well-adjusted dogs.

And then she approached. With a smile! "He passed," she told us. He barked a bit at first, but then settled down. He was FINE.

We'd made it through the gauntlet with true appreciation for this new opportunity, and for me, with a new compassion for the hundreds of prospective parents eager to find the right school (though I promise not to tell them where it came from).