The floor is still wet from the mop. The water bowls are full, and the only dogs in the building are the ones that stayed overnight.

The lobby of a doggy daycare at the start of a workday smells like industrial lemon, kibble, and the first pot of coffee. The door is propped open since it finally cooled off, and in walks our first client.

Check out our other doggy daycare stories!

7:14: The Small Dog Dad

He is the biggest person who will walk in all morning, and the quietest.

Six-foot-three, shoulders like a door frame, and he says hello to the front desk the way you would say it to a sleeping baby. 

Olive, a seven-pound chihuahua, rides in a sling across his chest, vibrating with anxiety. He tips her up to eye level for a short, serious meeting before handing her off to us.

He does not open the gate. He passes Olive over the top, palms up, because the floor is where the other dogs have been. In eleven months, Olive’s paws have not touched this lobby once.

7:19: The Huge Dog Mom

The door opens inward and the dog comes first.

Denise is a Bernese mountain dog, a hundred pounds of blubber and fluff. She comes through the door in installments: head, shoulders,the rest.

Behind her a woman in a baseball cap is dragged in by Denise, seemingly giving up on trying to control her excitement.

Last week Denise practically tackled her to the ground out of excitement at pickup, she tells us she’s still recovering.

7:24: The “I Know My Dog Is a Lot” Parent

She is apologizing before the door closes.

“I know. I know. Was it the barking? It’s the barking.” Nobody has said a word. Behind her, Otis, a shepherd mix with the wherewithal of a dropped bag of marbles, is studying the fire extinguisher.

Yesterday’s report card said Otis had an “enthusiastic” day. She has a decoder ring for that word.

“Thank you so much,” she says. She says it again at the door, and a third time through the front window with one hand flat on the glass. 

We love Otis. But he is not allowed to sit in the water bowl anymore.

7:31: The Worry Wart

Pearl walks in calm, an old golden retriever who knows the facility well.

Their person, a man in a work lanyard, has one question, the same as always. “Will you send pictures?”

We will. We sent four yesterday. He would like to look at them again, together, with us.

He pulls up yesterday’s catalogue. “Does she look weird to you here?” It is a dog, mid-sniff, regarding a ball. “And that water bowl, will it be fresh?” We say yes. He nods slowly, a man receiving a lab result.

Pearl is already at the gate, which is how any dog says “you can go now.”

7:38: The Always-on-the-Phone Parent

One AirPod in, one ear free.

A woman walks to the counter on a call, and half of every sentence goes to us and half goes to someone named Dave. “Hi, thank you, yes, no, the Friday one, you’re so great.” 

She signs in on the computer with her phone pinned to her shoulder. The signature comes out like a seismograph reading.

Cooper, a beagle, watches from her shin with the look you give someone who sits in your seat.

She makes it to the sidewalk before she stops, turns around, and comes back in. “Wait, did I say goodbye?” We say yes. “Oh, good,” she says, and is back on with Dave before the door shuts.

7:44: The Family Affair

The authorized contact list for one forty-pound yellow Lab named Roscoe has nine names on it. Roscoe knows all nine.

This morning five of them came through the door at once: a mom, a dad, a grandmother with her purse on her forearm, a teenager dispatched to carry the treat bag, and a family friend. Roscoe says goodbye to everyone individually before heading inside.

Pickup is always a mystery as to who will be sent to retrieve him. If I don’t recognize someone, I assume they know Roscoe.

7:51: The Overpacker

The bag arrives first, in the arms of a man who cannot see over it.

It is a two-night stay. There is a duffel, a second duffel inside the first, and a gallon bag for each day, labeled in marker, a blanket from home, and a laminated care sheet with a section titled “Feelings.”

Hank, a spaniel mix, sits on the biggest bag, then finds a tennis ball from his bin and walks off with it. It will be the only thing he uses the whole stay, though we pretend everything brought for him is necessary.

8:04

The gate swings shut on the last of them. Somebody fills the mop bucket.

On the glass of the front door there are nose prints at every height, from ankle to belt buckle. We’ll wipe them off tonight.

By 7:11 tomorrow, they’ll be back.

Meet the Author

Hey! My name is Garrett, I’m 22-years-old from Dallas Texas, though I currently reside in Brooklyn. New York has been quite the shift from what I’m used to in the suburbs, but I am enjoying the city life thus far! In my day-to-day routine I am constantly thinking about dogs, mostly because of my work at a local doggy daycare, but also because of my general love for animals!