Last night was one wild night for Liane and me at LHS. Fortunately nothing terribly bad happened and everything ended up okay, but it was pandemonium at its best, or maybe its worst.

The evening started off like this. Liane and I arrived at the shelter at about 6:00 for a B.A.D.Dogs training session. Keep in mind that I am very much looking forward to this and our goal was to get to the shelter early so that we could get the dogs out and have them unwind a bit before starting the training. So far so good right? We are at least one-half hour early. It’s a beautiful thing.

I’m walking through the kennel looking for my buddy Vegas, who relocated to a more upscale neighborhood (I presume that a lower level crate is in a higher rent district) and I smell that all too familiar kennel smell…..poop. Now the truth is (you can’t make this stuff up) that I work at a Wastewater Treatment Plant. In the old days they were referred to as Sewage Treatment Plants. Some like to refer to them as Water Reclamation Plants, but it all boils down to the same thing. A used car by any other name (like certified pre-owned) is still a used car. Where I’m going with this is that you would think that I would be used to this type of odor. For the most part when at work, it doesn’t bother me, but when I’m not at work, like most normal people, I find it objectionable. Yes that’s right. On rare (very rare) moments I have a semblance of normalcy. So while I really wanted to bring Vegas out to unwind, I figured let me clean out any soiled crates so the pups don’t have to get themselves all messy and so they don’t have to deal with this odor either. (Actually I think dogs kind of like the odor since they are always putting their nose in it. Personally I find that a little gross, but who am I to judge?)

The first crate that I find that has to be cleaned is the crate for a “red card” poodle. Now I have been really good about not taking red card dogs out, unless okayed by the staff. I previously wrote a journal about being a “Red Card Rebel”, but my friend Andy was very successful in getting me to “Change my Evil Ways” (Santana 1969). Here we have a red card poodle (how bad can a poodle be) right next to an empty crate. A quick door opening, a little guided direction, bingo, bango, bongo and we’re back it business…..right?.....wrong!!!

Now keep in mind, the worst part is Lara (LHS staff) was at the reception desk when this happened. It actually crossed by feeble mind to ask her to help me move this dog, but I figured “Hey I’m a macho guy (an Eye-talian from Jursey [the only thing better then that is being an Eye-talian from Staten Island]) “I don’t need no stinkin’ help” “What am I some kind of sissy?” Don’t answer that. That is what we call in the business a rhetorical question. In other words, DON’T ANSWER THAT! “I can’t move a poodle because he has a red card?” “You’ve got to be kidding me”. So as usual, testosterone and ego get in the way of using good common sense and….you got it ….God punished me.

I open the crate and the dog doesn’t have a collar on. I went to grab him, but I think he figured, let me grab you. Instinctively I pulled back (ooops, guess I am a sissy) and bam, he was off like a flash. The front door to the shelter was open and he’s gone. About five of us ran out of the shelter to get this guy back and he is up the ramp to the turnpike extension, across the extension and God knows where. Volunteers are crossing the extension and all I can think is someone is going to get killed out here and it’s all my fault.


A good Samaritan stopped and got involved in the search and rescue briefly and ended up driving Liane back down the ramp. The wind up is 5 minutes later the good Samaritan called the shelter since she spotted the pup on someone’s porch. Lara and I took off to get the little b—tard (yeah around now I’m getting aggravated with him since I can’t get any more aggravated with myself and now I know that he is a surrender who bites as well). We had the address and there he is. Laying down like nothing happened. Lara approaches him with a slip lead and bam….it’s another day at the races.

Lara, to her credit, and to my bewilderment takes off down the street after him. I’m thinking “why is she even bothering?” There is no way she is going to get him and I’m going to be fired any way. How disgraceful is that? Being fired as a volunteer.

All I could think is when I get back to the shelter Brian is going to kick my butt. I’m going to be banished from LHS and if Aurora ever sees me again she’s going to bit-- slap me silly. (Hey listen. I grew up in an Italian household and those Eye-talian broads are tough. That’s why I married an Irish woman.) I’m never going to get to hang out and play with magnificent Pit Bulls again. When I go home my two pups are going to look at me with disgust and walk away and the foster will probably come over and pee on my leg. In a matter of literally minutes, life is all of a sudden terrible.

Lara is out of sight somewhere in Jersey City. Now think about how bad I’m feeling. I’m at the shelter for 10 minutes and I’ve managed to lose a red carded shelter dog and a kennel worker. When I go back to the kennel I’m going to have my buddy Brian kick my butt and when Aurora sees me she is going to ….I can’t bare to say it again. Christ where did I go wrong?

Okay, calm down and do some quick thinking. I call the shelter to get Lara’s cell phone number. While on the phone with Liane I have to go through 50 questions and answers and explain in detail with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back (Arlo Gunthrie 1970?) Thanks Liane. As stupid as I fell make me feel stupider and worse. Yeah I know. I lost a kennel worker. How did I do it? I don’t know. You got to be pretty stupid. Guess I’m too stupid to figure it out. Can you just get her cell number from Brian?

So I call Lara. She’s laughing. To her credit she’s pretty smart and compassionate. She doesn’t try to make me feel any stupider for losing her and the dog. She knows it’s not possible for me to feel and stupider and it would just be a complete waste of time. But the best part is this… she has the dog. So we get back to the shelter just in time for the training session. I’m really impressed that Lara was able to catch this mutt who was about to ruin my short lived shelter volunteering career. Thanks Lara. You’re my new hero, right up there next to Henry Bergh.

Next thing you know we are a few minutes into the B.A.D. DOGS training session and Liane’s dog … who shall remain nameless since he was a minor (under 17 human years) gets away from her, charges Elise’s dog and there are two dogs and two grown woman rolling around on the ground. If it were muddy and there weren’t two dogs that looked like they were about to fight, this might have been entertaining. Liane manages to get her dog back and under control Elise manages to get her dog back and under control, but she is clearly shook up. Elise wisely took her dog out of visual contact with the other dogs so her dog could calm down and so Elise could get her composure. Fortunately no one was hurt and everything turned out okay.

I was working with Vegas after all and was using two chain leashes hooked together since four feet was less then what I wanted. At the end of the night I separated the leashes so I could take Vegas for a walk on a shorter leash. In the process I manage to lose one of the leashes. That might not sound like a big deal to you, but it was to me. I hate losing stuff. Maybe I have some OCD going. I had to spend about 20 minutes looking for this leash and retracing my steps. I know I draped it around my neck but have no idea where it ended up It did have a broken loop handle but it had been serving its purpose for me and I hate losing stuff no matter how small the monetary value. I don’t even care if it was something that I was going to throw in the garbage. I still hate losing stuff. It make me feel stupid. Okay so far I lost a dog, a kennel worker, and a leash all in about 2 hours. Not bad. At least the kennel worker found the dog and I found the kennel worker.

When we get home what do I find? A leash, but not the leash I lost, an entirely different leash. A 6 ft red webbing style leash with a hand loop at the end and one about 2 ft from the snap hook. Somehow I managed to grab someone else’s leash. What a night. Despite all of the Kaos versus Control (Mel Brooks circa 1968) it was still a fun night at LHS and the best part is I wasn’t banned from the shelter….not yet.