Winnie Lew is not aware that she is a dog. As her human, I suppose that is my fault.

As she was my COVID companion, it was just the two of us for several years.

It has always been my intention to find her some dog friends. For some reason, I never got around to it.

There is no dog park in Selma and no doggie day care.

I rationalized that if I were in a larger city, I would have sent her to a sanctioned day care. It was a pretty good excuse for five years.

And then, one Friday evening, I am driving past a local park and I see a gathering of dogs and a bus that has fun graphics all over it.

Canine Strides – The Bark Bus.

So, I pull in and start asking questions.

It turns out Selma now has a doggie day camp and the Bark Bus goes around picking up dogs to take to its private dog park for a morning of fun.

I was intrigued and got a post card with all of the information.

But the card lingered on my desk, and I didn’t take any action. Then, on a recent visit to the vet, I saw a stack of the cards, asked the staff if they knew anything about it, and they gave it a thumbs up.

I took that as a sign.

I got home and gave the number a call and left a message.

Not long after, a cheerful voice called back. She scheduled an in-home meet-and-greet for the following week.

With the nervousness of a mother hoping her child does well on their private school interview, I started talking with Winnie Lew about what was going to happen.

I explained to her that she needed some friends of her own species. She didn’t seem too anxious about the whole thing and that was okay – I had nerves for the both of us.

What if she didn’t pass?

What if she had a meltdown when the Bark Bus drove up for her interview?

What if I had a meltdown when the Bark Bus drove up?

I knew it was going to be a long five days wait. I almost felt the need to have prayer circles form to offer intercessions for a successful interview.

Maybe I needed to light a candle.
Maybe I needed to invoke the powers of St. Roch, the patron saint of dogs.

All weekend we prepped.

I was giving Winnie Lew all sorts of advice on how to make a good impression to which she would cock her head and look at me as though I were nuts. Because basically, that was how I was behaving.

I had filled out the 12 pages of paperwork. I thought the paperwork was a good sign – it meant it was a legit business. So many questions.

Does she take medication? No.
Does she have any anxiety issues? Yes.
Does she have separation anxiety issues? Don’t know yet.
Does she have territorial issues? Yes, with her human.
Does she have any disabilities? Yes. She is a spoiled-rotten only-child.

Finally, interview day arrived.

I couldn’t get a thing done at work.

When I got home, I gave Winnie Lew a good furminating – I didn’t want to her to shed any more than usual at her “pre-school” interview.

Like my mother used to tell me, “Always brush your hair before you leave the house. You don’t know who might see you. And yes, Amy, that means brush the back, too.”

At long last, the Bark Bus drove up the long winding driveway.

Winnie Lew went into a frenzy as the owner cheerfully jumped out of the bus.

I held my breath as she came through the screened-in porch door. The owner introduced herself as Dawn. Winnie Lew stopped barking and cowered a little bit, but Dawn got down on the floor with her and quickly put her at ease.

After a little time getting to know Winnie Lew inside, it was time to go out to the Bark Bus.

Dawn’s Boston Terrier was sitting in one of the seats.

Winnie Lew gave a good sniff which he took in stride. We finally got her to get up on one of the seats so she could see out of a window.

After she had performed that duty, Winnie Lew jumped down – she was ready to go back inside her house. Dawn even tried to offer her a treat, which she refused. Once again, Winnie Lew shot me a look as if to say, “Stranger Danger,” like I was allowing Dawn to offer her poison.

All three of us hopped off the bus to go in and finalize the deal.

Winnie Lew had passed with flying colors!

Although Dawn did say there would be a period of adjustment, she thought it was a good fit.

She promised to let me know if she didn’t think it was working out. I handed over my paperwork and a check to cover the first day at camp.

Dawn announced Winnie Lew could start next week and that she would send me a text to let me know which day the Bark Bus would arrive.

That was a week ago.

Fast forward to today.

Winnie Lew has gotten up and gone for her morning constitutional.

She has gotten a back-to-school haircut of sorts – I trimmed off some of her back fluff. I know it will be hot outside, and I thought a little less fluff might make her a little cooler.

I know she doesn’t realize it is her first day of school, but her mother does. I feel like I should be packing her a lunch and putting it in a Paw Patrol lunch box.

At 7:48 a.m., we hear the rumble of the bus.

It is already full of Winnie Lew’s new classmates and hopefully new friends.

I hustle to get Winnie Lew’s harness adjusted as the bus door opens with a hydraulic hiss.

Dawn stands in the doorway, clipboard in hand.

“Good morning, Winnie Lew! Ready for your first day of adventure?” Dawn chirps.

Winnie Lew freezes beside me, her tail tucked firmly between her legs.

From inside the bus comes a cacophony of excited barks and yips. I can see furry faces pressed against windows, tongues lolling, eyes bright with anticipation.

“It’s okay, baby,” I whisper, crouching down to her level. “You’re going to have so much fun today.”

The look she gives me can only be described as betrayal incarnate.

I hand her off to Dawn and tell Winnie Lew to “be a friend” and “make good choices.”

I will neither confirm nor deny that a tear went down my cheek.

I hope this goes well. This will be one nervous mama until that Bark Bus returns.

Cross all of your paws and send good vibes that my co-pilot has the time of her life.