I had recently left my successful banking career behind knowing that all I wanted to do was work with animals, and I was rewarded with my dream job at Service Dog Project. For three years, I had the honor of working at a farm dedicated to raising and training Great Danes as service dogs for individuals with mobility challenges. My official title was “Overnighter,” though “Puppy Nanny” was a more fitting description of my role. Although I was thrilled to get the job, I could not have known the impact the farm and these majestic dogs would have on my life.
I am no longer affiliated with the Service Dog Project, so I hesitate to go into great detail, but I can provide a brief overview. It is a non-profit organization based in Ipswich, MA, situated on a farm that is also a sanctuary for rescued donkeys, horses, goats, and zebus. Spanning over 10 acres, the farm plunges into complete darkness at night. My job was the nightly care of 20-40 adult Great Danes, one or two litters of puppies and the farm’s other various inhabitants. Every night was hectic and stressful, but there were always more rewarding moments.
The lick from a puppy, the sweet taste and smell of puppy breath, the enthusiastic greeting from a litter of puppies, showing they remember me and they are thrilled to see me. The adoring gaze and lap hugs from an older, more reserved dog, falling asleep with a puppy in my arms and another glued to my side. The joy of watching a puppy play with a toy for the first time, grabbing it in his mouth and shaking it like hard won prey, the pride when an older dog listens to a command I gave in a forced authoritative voice, or when a mother dog visibly relaxes when I arrive, trusting me to care for her precious pups while she sleeps. The awe and wonder of watching a puppy enter the world, removing it from its sack, and rubbing his back until he takes his very first breath, right there in my hands, placing him near mama so he can find his first meal, all the while basking in the trust mama is showing me as I handle her brand new baby, even before she does. The big heavy paw placed on your lap or my arm telling me to stay, the same paw wrapped around my neck as I lean in for a hug, the comfortable pressure from a big dog leaning on me to show his affection, meeting and earning the trust of a dog new to the farm, entering the house or the barn and no one barking because they know it’s me.
The joy of seeing one of “my puppies” fulfill his journey and become a service dog, secretly wondering how the fresh little puppy, who was once so small I could hold him with one hand, could possibly be capable of such an important job. As an overnighter we do not see their training and progress.
After 12-14 weeks the puppies leave the nursery. There is an immense sense of emptiness because that is the end of the hours upon hours of time together; from then on, any time together is usually brief. But there is relief too when the puppies leave the nursery, because they have grown so big, and play so hard, and are so strong, too strong when they all push through a gate or a door together. The last few weeks with the puppies require both physical and mental resilience. The sweet greeting that I have looked forward to becomes hazardous. In their sheer excitement to see me, they all attempt to jump on me at the same time. When I am brave enough to kneel down to their level, they surround me in a flash. One has my shoelace, one has my zipper, and one is tugging surprisingly hard on my ponytail, while several fight to lick my face and a few more try to get in my lap. I never have enough hands to thwart every attack and my verbal protests are completely ignored. But I don’t get mad because I know they’re just happy I’m there, and so am I. After the perilous greeting, they turn that energy on each other, play fighting. Occasionally, one puppy remains, offering a gentler welcome, but even this is short-lived as I’m called upon to mediate the more intense tussles.