I was pulled over on the side of a neighborhood street, calling my mom for the sixth time. I was aware of the minutes ticking by while I tried to think through my options. 

It was just before 7 pm and we had a car coming to pick us up at 6:30 the next morning to take my family to the airport. I had just dropped Barley off at the dogsitter's house. I wanted to get him back. We adopted him during COVID, he’d never spent a night away from us. But that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that I felt in my gut that I left him in a bad situation.

When I had arrived at the dog sitter’s house 30 min earlier, I parked in the driveway and the sitter, Shauna, met me at my car. We had met once before during a “meet-and-greet” a few weeks earlier. Barley had sniffed around the fenced-in back yard and chased her young, petite Australian shepherd. He played in the awkward and intimidating way that a 75-pound pit bull mix adopted during COVID might. He barked, he ran fast, but I had seen this exuberant behavior before and recognized it as his play. 

Shauna had said she thought Barley and her pup got along fine, but I could see from the way she tried to interrupt their behavior that she wasn’t completely comfortable. I explained that he played loud and fast and that this was typical of his play, but if she wasn’t comfortable, or her dog wasn’t comfortable, then we could make other plans. She said that wasn’t necessary. I looked around at the big, fenced-in yard and thought about how nice it would be for Barley to be able to stay here while we were away. 

During the meet-and-greet, she had explained that the dogs stay in the heated garage and play in the yard most of the day. I thought “dogs” meant all dogs, including hers, but in retrospect, she might have meant the dogs she watches. I pictured the inside of the large garage connected to the backyard to be a spacious, dog-friendly place with their crates available. I hadn’t asked to see it. I had found Shauna on a dog sitter app and all her reviews had been so positive. I told her I’d like to move forward with the reservation.

During the next few weeks, I didn’t feel amazing about Shauna’s response to Barley. I wished that she had more time with him and that the dogs had had more time together. He is a big dog, with an intimidating look and a deep bark. He’s strong and fast. She seemed nervous and that made me nervous. Since we adopted him a year ago he has been nothing but tolerant with our family but, partly due to COVID, he hasn’t been in that many new situations since he adjusted to living with us. I’m vigilant and always looking to set him up for success. I wasn’t sure how he would do if someone wasn’t a step ahead of him. I’ve had a dog bite someone before, and I know that any dog might bite when found in the wrong circumstances. I want to avoid being in the situation of caring for a dog with a biting history again. 

Back to Shauna’s house, drop-off time. Barley was already on edge from having his crate and belongings packed into the car. When I opened the back gate of our car, he was hesitant to hop out. Not typical. When he did jump down, he greeted Shauna with his tail between his legs. Her dog barked through the gate to the back yard and his attention went there; I opened the gate to let him into their big backyard.

I stood on outside of the gate, not entering. It was dark. Barley ran around the yard, hackles up, sniffing. He returned to the gate and Shauna’s dog was sitting just across the gate from me. Barley sniffed her and they ran a bit, and he started barking loudly as he had before. Then from somewhere to the side of me, inside the backyard, a man yelled, “Knock it off, Barley!” in a deep, aggressive voice. I was shocked that there was anyone there, much less someone there yelling at my dog. I turned to see him and introduce myself since he had skipped that step. He told me his name but barely looked my way.

Shauna suggested her husband throw a ball and he did, and Barley ran after it. I knew he wasn't going to fetch in this exciting situation, and he returned to me and the little Aussie pressed against the gate and started barking. Then the husband repeated his nasty-toned “knock it off!” to my left from inside the yard, this time with a hand raised in the air. Barley turned and started barking at him. 

I called him over, but the whole situation was too intense and had I entered the gate, I sensed the situation would escalate. I did the only thing I could think of to diffuse the situation. I stepped away from the gate and moved down the driveway a bit, away from the yard, hoping the dogs would also move out of the tight corner. My presence on the other side of the gate seemed to be condensing the whole backyard into a little corner, intense for everyone.

I quickly told Shauna again that Barley’s instructions were handwritten in the bag I gave her, along with a blanket for his crate, toys and his food. I said I thought it best if I leave but to please call me if they didn’t settle in soon. And I left. 

It may seem odd that I didn’t take Barley with me right then. In retrospect, I felt I needed to remove myself immediately to diffuse the situation, have a moment to assess my options, and let Barley settle down. And, if I’m honest, the yelling husband spooked me into retreat. 

Shauna’s house was only five minutes from my own, but I pulled over just a few blocks away. I checked in with myself for a minute. Was I overreacting? Was I just nervous about leaving Barley for the first time? Didn’t think so. I trusted my ability to gauge the situation. We had an aggressive man (or, minimally, an aggressive communicator), my big, strong dog who has been under-socialized to people and dogs during COVID (yes, that’s on me), and a woman who didn’t seem to have a great grasp on dog behavior. I started making calls. 

First, I called my mom. Four times. She could probably stay with Barley in a pinch, although it wasn’t convenient enough for it to be our original plan. I couldn’t get through. Next, I called a close friend who is super dog savvy but unfortunately lives across the country. This was a quick check-in with someone who knew me and Barley and could help see the situation clearly. Then I called a dog sitter who had hosted Barley for daycare playdates (no luck, she was on vacation). Then I called my sister, who had two dogs of her own, and suggested boarding Barley at her vet or ours. I tried both but they had each just closed. I tried my mom again a few times. Still no answer. I then called my oldest friend who does live nearby and seems to always help me out of a jam (she actually answered the phone, “Do you need help?”). She wasn’t in the position to stay with Barley or host him at her place, but could visit and had some other people she could ask.

Eleven calls later, I still didn’t have a plan in place. I remained confident that I couldn’t leave Barley at the sitter and was gaining confidence that I could piece together a solution that most likely involved me getting on the plane in the morning. I went back to Shauna’s. 

I pulled up and rang the bell. I didn’t hear Barley bark. Shauna wasn’t there; her husband answered. He appeared not to recognize me. I told him that I didn’t have a good feeling about the way the drop-off went and that I was here to take Barley home. He didn’t ask why; he just shrugged and walked back into his house.

I went around the side of the house, back toward the garage and gate to the backyard. Still silent. He came through the back of the house, out into the back yard, and over to the side garage door, near the gate where I was again standing. I looked in the garage through the open doorway and saw Barley in his crate, barren of any blanket or towel, wedged between the wall and a big pickup truck. Alone. The guy opened the crate and Barley bolted toward me, barking loudly (again). I opened the gate and he booked it to the car and hopped in the open back end. I followed him, shut the back end, and returned to the husband. He handed me the folded-up crate over the fence and said “you’re all set.” 

I asked about Barley’s bag. He looked confused and went back into the garage for a minute, then came back out with the bag in hand and said, “Didn’t see it at first, was in the back of my truck.” It still was stuffed full, instructions poking out the top, Barley’s blanket folded in it. We drove home. 

After several group texts and a restless night, I had pieced together a Plan A, B & C. Plan A ended up working: Barley was picked up by my sister the next morning and brought to our vet for boarding for a few days, then my mom retrieved him and stayed with him for a day so that we wouldn’t have to wait the extra 24 hours after returning from our trip for the vet to reopen for pickups. I didn’t love him being in a kennel in a place he found stressful, but I needed him and others physically safe.

I’m writing this post on the day we returned home, and Barley is beside me. He’s sticking close, but otherwise appears unphased by the experiences of the last five days. 

What made me want to share this story? Caring for a dog in a consistent and loving way as we navigate the demands of life can be difficult. And it can be especially difficult when “normal” life resumes post-pandemic, even for someone like me who enjoys thinking about socialization and training. I needed a Barley Village to pull together a pretty mediocre solution. I feel keenly aware of how much work I need to do to strengthen his village so that his community is deeper and so that Barley is exposed to more places, people, and dogs. He needs a village to explore and in which to practice living while I work on my own understanding of his strengths and weaknesses. I need to see him in different situations and learn how to help him thrive outside of our pandemic home. And I know that many, many people are in similar situations right now. Raising a happy, healthy dog takes a village of support, and a village of experiences. And many of us have work to do.