The Shop Dog

Yesterday I went to see a client. Yeah, I've been having neck problems but thankfully it wasn't so bad that I couldn't drive. Before I left, the secretary there warned me in advance: "This whole place is lined in gravel and broken up tiles, so be careful."

So, I dressed nicely but put on shoes that were so sensible a nurse would be envious.

I got there, and missed the narrow entrance entirely the first time around. It was a small gated entrance that had been pulled open for the day. The gate was metal chain link which also surrounded the entire property, and the entrance was funnel-like. You drove in and it gradually increased in size until you found yourself in a wedge-shaped area. Sure enough, there was gravel, rocks, and shattered tiles as far as the eye could see, and no grass anywhere. There was an old rusting mobile home off to the left, and a shack that looked as if it was falling apart to the right. Between them was a building that looked as if none of the builders could agree to a floor plan. I suppose there had been numerous additions over the years and there was no effort to make it look contiguous.

I pulled in and parked, and started toward the central building, which (of all the dilapidated buildings) looked the most promising.

As I approached the building, a dog that looked like Old Yeller got up and looked at me alertly. Now, I don't like construction shop dogs. They always 'look at you alertly' like that. And it always means one thing: they're sizing you up. Over the years I've learned to talk briskly but sweetly to them and it usually works. I haven't been treed yet, but I've come close.

What is up with 'Shop Dogs'? I don't think the owners usually train them to be mean (although some might) because it's a major liability. Believe you me, client or not, I would sue the pants off anyone whose shop dog bit me.

My guess is that 'Shop Dogs' are traditional in these industries, and kept in the hope that they'll be good guard dogs. But they're not trained to do anything in particular, and they're neglected just enough that they're too wild to be used effectively or cherished as a pet.

This one had that wide-eyed, bristly look they get when they first sight you. "Hey there, fella," I said in a sweet 'good doggy' voice. He gave the tiniest growl which almost was a hiccup. "Whoosa evil doggy," I said sweetly and with assertive confidence. "Yes you are! You're the evil doggy! Where's the office, doggy? Is this it?" and other assorted nonsense as I tried to get by without losing a chunk of my leg.

This particular shop dog was tied with a 10 foot rope to one of the poles on the porch, so he was somewhat limited as to where he could go. But his range included the front door and (as is usual) there was no one around. Eventually he calmed down and decided he didn't want to bother with me and I got to the door.

The meeting went well and, as I was leaving, I asked the secretary about him. "Oh, Sam?" she said. "He's only about 5 months old. He's part Chow and part Golden Retriever." I couldn't see the Chow, except for the unusual shape of the head (which wasn't consistent with Retriever).

"Is he yours?" I asked politely, already knowing he wasn't. "Nope," she answered. "Just a shop dog."

I walked by him as I was leaving. "Bye, Sam," I said. He looked just as suspicious as he had before. I held my hand out to him and he jumped away, eyeing me. She laughed. "Oh that's just Sam," she said. "He's a little shy."

Shy, my eye. This dog is going to grow up to be just another Shop Dog.