FSAH DOGS

I went to work at FSAH in 1985.
I began in the kennels. I was probably at that time the oldest kennel attendant they had ever had. I was 40 years old. My "boss" was 19. The head honcho was 35 or thereabouts.
I cleaned kennels.
The first week there I lost 17 pounds.
There were two wards, a recovery unit, and two wings with indoor-outdoor kennels. There were 3 of us. Me, Heidi and Bobbie. Bobbie died of cancer last year. She was I think 57 years old when she died. She was still working there in grooming.
By the time I "retired" I had been there longer than anyone except the office manager and Doc.
By the time I "retired" I had been a kennel attendant, the Kennel Manager, a Vet Tech, and later I came back as a bather-brusher for the groomers. There wasn't much I hadn't done. Receptionist. Not a job I ever wanted and not one (with my temper) Doc was likely to offer.

Shortly after I started there I met Arko. Arko was a German Shepherd. He worked for a neighboring Village and he was a K-9 dog, one of the first of many who I met while I worked there. But Arko has always remained my favorite of all the cop dogs I have met there.
Some of them come in wearing muzzles, for a good reason. Arko wasn't like that. He knew who his friends were. When we cleaned the outside runs we would let Arko out and he would chase the hose, leaping and snapping at the water.
One night Arko was boarding and was in the back. This meant there were several doors between Arko and the front.

In the morning, we were greeted with Arko at the front door. He had spent the night "patrolling" the front: several food bags had been looted and the plants in the windows were on the floor. People tended to use the parking lot to turn around, and we thought Arko spent a lot of time leaping from chair to chair in the front window, "chasing off" intruders. We never did figure out how he got loose, or how he got through the doors.
Arko retired after a number of years on the police force. He was given to a local petting farm as a guard dog. Unfortunately, he developed oral cancer and was put down. I adored Arko. I have never forgotten what a neat, well-trained and intelligent dog he was.

And then there was Bob.
Bob was a Great Pyrenees, the first I had ever known. He came to us as an adorable, fuzzy, white, friendly little thing and grew into a huge, fuzzy, white, friendly big thing. I loved Bob. Bob was the kind of dog who, if you saw him outside as you drove by, you rolled the window down and yelled "Hi Bob!"

Bob was around for several years. At one time his owner told us that they were moving to Texas. They had a real estate agent who was working with them to sell their house, and she happened to walk in one day after no one answered the door.
Despite his fuzzy friendliness, Bob didn't know her. And so, the family found the real estate agent pinned against a wall with a large white Great Pyrenees sitting watching her, guarding his "flock". Every time she moved, he growled.

I don't know what happened to Bob, but it was a long, long time ago so I seriously doubt he is still alive. It doesn't matter. He imbued me with a lifelong love of Pyrenees, even though I will never own one. He and Arko taught me that dogs often know, better than we, who their friends are.