either direction, and since the church paid him a salary for maintaining the camp, he did pretty well for himself. And even though the heyday of Camp Bluebird had passed ten years ago, I was pleased to see that Willie had kept it up well. After all, I was the one who’d suggested the facility to Camp Bowser Wowser when they lost their old site. I didn’t want to be embarrassed.
I’d had that experience enough for one day.
The entrance was marked by a big laurel arch from which hung a sign emblazoned with frolicking cartoon dogs that read, Camp Bowser Wowser July 1-3. Welcome! Melanie bounced in her seat with excitement as we made the turn and the dogs, who always woke when the car slowed down, sat up and looked out eagerly through their respective windows. We drove a few hundred yards down the dirt road that was surrounded on either side by overgrown pasture land and came to a fork in the road. It had been years since I’d been here, so I was glad for the hand-lettered signs: Lodge and Dining (straight ahead), Cabins (left) Rec Hall (right). I drove straight.
“Now remember,” I told Melanie, “no special privileges. Pepper has to sleep in the doggie dorm just like all the other dogs, even if there is room in your dorm for her tonight. No complaining.”
It would have been utter chaos to have dogs bunking in the same cabins as their pint-sized owners, not to mention the liability factor should one of the children try to take a dog outside for a potty break in the middle of the night. The problem had been solved by providing a separate doggie dorm where all the dogs would be crated at night with a designated counselor to take care of their needs.
“Don’t worry,” Melanie assured me. “I explained to Pepper about how the fun of going to camp is sleeping away from your folks. It’ll be an adventure.”
I smothered a smile. “Good deal.”
Registration was being held on the porch of the dining hall between five and six today for early arrivals and between eight and ten tomorrow for the regular group. There was another welcoming sign with frolicking beagles and Labs, and a small group of adults had gathered around the registration table, sipping soft drinks and chatting. I glanced at my watch and realized that, despite my best efforts, I was five minutes late for instructor orientation. “Melanie,” I said, hastily unstrapping my seat belt, “I hate to run off, but they’re waiting for me …”
“No problem,” she said, clearly pleased to be left on her own. “I’ll just walk Pepper around. What about Mischief and Magic?”
“I can keep an eye on them from here,” I said. “I’ll open the back door for air.” I waved to the group on the porch as I climbed out. “Hi, everybody! Sorry I’m late!”
I knew the other instructors—Camp Director Margie Hildebrand and her husband Steve, who taught junior handling, and Lee Beatty, who was in charge of everything else, including the Pre-Opening Welcome Barbecue that was scheduled for tonight. As Cisco and I bounded up the steps of the low, lodge-like building, we were greeted with calls of welcome and hugs—the hugs being mostly for Cisco, I admit—and introduced to the camp nurse and vet tech, who would be coming in on a daily basis, and to the three fresh-faced teenage counselors, Andrea, Haley and Bill.
“Raine,” exclaimed Margie from her place behind the registration table, “this place is marvelous! I couldn’t have done better myself! It’s just a little piece of heaven, isn’t it? Everyone, Raine’s the one who found us this place.”
There were murmurs and nods of appreciation, and I was going to explain how I had worked here as a kid, but Margie is one of those steamroller personalities who lets nothing stand in way of her agenda—not a bad characteristic to have, I suppose, when you’re trying to wrangle twenty five kids and twenty five dogs for three days. She went
I’d had that experience enough for one day.
The entrance was marked by a big laurel arch from which hung a sign emblazoned with frolicking cartoon dogs that read, Camp Bowser Wowser July 1-3. Welcome! Melanie bounced in her seat with excitement as we made the turn and the dogs, who always woke when the car slowed down, sat up and looked out eagerly through their respective windows. We drove a few hundred yards down the dirt road that was surrounded on either side by overgrown pasture land and came to a fork in the road. It had been years since I’d been here, so I was glad for the hand-lettered signs: Lodge and Dining (straight ahead), Cabins (left) Rec Hall (right). I drove straight.
“Now remember,” I told Melanie, “no special privileges. Pepper has to sleep in the doggie dorm just like all the other dogs, even if there is room in your dorm for her tonight. No complaining.”
It would have been utter chaos to have dogs bunking in the same cabins as their pint-sized owners, not to mention the liability factor should one of the children try to take a dog outside for a potty break in the middle of the night. The problem had been solved by providing a separate doggie dorm where all the dogs would be crated at night with a designated counselor to take care of their needs.
“Don’t worry,” Melanie assured me. “I explained to Pepper about how the fun of going to camp is sleeping away from your folks. It’ll be an adventure.”
I smothered a smile. “Good deal.”
Registration was being held on the porch of the dining hall between five and six today for early arrivals and between eight and ten tomorrow for the regular group. There was another welcoming sign with frolicking beagles and Labs, and a small group of adults had gathered around the registration table, sipping soft drinks and chatting. I glanced at my watch and realized that, despite my best efforts, I was five minutes late for instructor orientation. “Melanie,” I said, hastily unstrapping my seat belt, “I hate to run off, but they’re waiting for me …”
“No problem,” she said, clearly pleased to be left on her own. “I’ll just walk Pepper around. What about Mischief and Magic?”
“I can keep an eye on them from here,” I said. “I’ll open the back door for air.” I waved to the group on the porch as I climbed out. “Hi, everybody! Sorry I’m late!”
I knew the other instructors—Camp Director Margie Hildebrand and her husband Steve, who taught junior handling, and Lee Beatty, who was in charge of everything else, including the Pre-Opening Welcome Barbecue that was scheduled for tonight. As Cisco and I bounded up the steps of the low, lodge-like building, we were greeted with calls of welcome and hugs—the hugs being mostly for Cisco, I admit—and introduced to the camp nurse and vet tech, who would be coming in on a daily basis, and to the three fresh-faced teenage counselors, Andrea, Haley and Bill.
“Raine,” exclaimed Margie from her place behind the registration table, “this place is marvelous! I couldn’t have done better myself! It’s just a little piece of heaven, isn’t it? Everyone, Raine’s the one who found us this place.”
There were murmurs and nods of appreciation, and I was going to explain how I had worked here as a kid, but Margie is one of those steamroller personalities who lets nothing stand in way of her agenda—not a bad characteristic to have, I suppose, when you’re trying to wrangle twenty five kids and twenty five dogs for three days. She went
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