Watch John in action in the video below
While in the workplace, we
may occasionally moan
about having to clean up
after other people’s shit, we should
be thankful that said shit is usually
figurative. For a dog carer, that shit
is literal, and at any given time it’s
being shat out in about 80 different
places. And then, as is the case
with Zangye the angry Shiba, you
have to suffer the indignity of being
aggressively barked at while you try
to clear it up with an industrial poopa-
scoop.
Luckily not all the residents
of Buddydog, a dog training and
boarding facility on the outskirts of
Pudong, are as poorly mannered.
The individual kennels are divided
into indoor and outdoor areas, with
a small door separating the two. My
first job is to let each dog outside to
do their business and just generally
enjoy Shanghai’s famous fresh air
(they’re also given proper, off-leash
run-arounds twice a day in the
facility’s ample 3,000sqm field).
I can hear anxious scrabbling on
the other side, and as I unlock each
door, I have no idea what kind of
pooch will emerge. It’s very exciting,
probably a bit like Blind Date if the
contestants came on stage and
crapped everywhere: first comes
Wallace the British bulldog (not
much of a looker, but a heart of
gold); followed by grey border collie
Kaka (young, dumb, and horny);
followed by Potato the terrier,
a sweet little mite that is too
terrified to come anywhere
near me.
Each dog has his own
requirements as instructed
by its owner: the meek Potato, for instance, has come to Buddydog to be ‘socialised’ with
humans and other dogs, according
to Tony the carer who is guiding me
through his daily responsibities.
Wallace, meanwhile, who is
burdened with a big flabby face
with folds of skin that can get easily
irritated, needs to be cleansed daily
with baby wipes. Each dog also has
its own diet which has to be adhered
to; later in the kitchen I’m to mix up
kibble with four different types of
vitamins and a raw egg.
So let’s just briefly recap: faeces,
face wipes and raw eggs. If you
were considering owning a dog
in Shanghai but hadn’t thought
through the finer details, you’d sadly
be in good company. Many of the
tenants at Buddydog
are permanent,
thanks to owners that
drop them off and don’t come back. Such orphans are put up for adoption, and are given
daily obedience training – which
customers can pay an extra fee for –
to increase their prospects of finding
a new home.
Armed with a waist pouch full of
congratulatory treats, I first train
with collie Bobi in the central yard,
which is equipped with an obstacle
course of jumps and ramps. I am
told that Bobi was abandoned
because of his manic energy, and I
immediately feel an affinity with him
because we are both pale, ginger
and misunderstood. We practice
walking, heeling, showjumping,
playing dead, and leg waves, and
Bobi – who admittedly, has had three
years of practice – proves extremely
compliant. I have less success with
Baozi, a giant white fluffy Siberian
Samoyed that resembles a lifesize
Sylvanian Family toy, whom I
command to stay, when all he wants
to do is go.
It’s an exhausting, unglamorous
afternoon, a world away from the
dip-dyed ears, velour
hoodies and neon
booties that tend
to be favoured by
Shanghai’s dog lovers
(and their dogs).
Later on, as I perform
the ridiculous task
of giving Wallace a
facial, receiving a
crotchful of drool in
the process, it strikes
me that affection for
your wards seems
key to this job – although I
suppose every dog should
have the right to feel
beautiful, even if it is at the
expense of your trousers.
