This story was originally shared with us during our Story Contest by ​Carolyn Sill, who is serving with Stewards Individual Placements. The contest has ended, but you can still share your stories with us for possible publication on The Field Guide! Please email your stories (and any accompanying photos) to communications@conservationlegacy.org. 

It’s very hard to feel sad when in the presence of a dog. Dogs are magnets that are strongly attracted to humans, those creatures that serve as their friends, waitstaff, chauffeurs, and belly massaging machines. Depending on their personality, a dog’s approach towards a human will be different. Some are sentimental and run up to a human in need of drooly, sopping wet kisses, and immediately begin a demonstration of their services. Some are more self-centered, swaggering up to the human and then plopping down on the ground, expecting immediate ear scritches. One thing remains constant, though: canines are real characters. And I’ve come to know several canine characters during my time at Marsh-Billings-Rockefeller National Historic Park. 

Like many parks, Marsh-Billings-Rockefeller hosts its own BARK Ranger program. If one pledges to follow the rules of BARK (Bag up waste, Always be leashed, Respect wildlife and Know where you can go), their dog will receive a one-size-fits-all green bandana. It’s especially cute on smaller dogs, who look like they’re wearing superhero capes when their BARK bandanas are put over their backs. Just earlier today, I watched a corgi named Rudy get his bandana. He may not have known exactly what was going on, but he did seem to know that he was being honored. He smiled and looked around with a sort of pride, as if to say, “Yes, bask in my glory, for I deserve this!” 

BARK Ranger is more than just a cute way to get a souvenir bandana. I encounter many Rovers while roving, and though the majority follow BARK essentials, too often you get those whose owners clearly never took the pledge. Some people let their dogs swim in the Pogue, our wetland, despite signs saying it’s off limits. This scares off the turtles and ducks that other visitors delight in seeing. Owners may also hang bags of dog waste from trees, like the most disgusting Christmas ornaments ever. And then there’s the leash issue. I had one man very animatedly explain to me why he should be allowed to let his dogs off the leash. He argued it’s better for them psychologically, and I just smiled and politely told him it’s just our policy. When in doubt, I flatter them: “I can tell your dog is a very good boy (or girl), and I trust you’re telling the truth. But if we let you walk your dog unleashed, then we’d have to let everyone else do it, too, and we can’t trust every dog.” I’ve never had anyone disagree to that. I always feel a little proud of myself when I convince owners to practice good stewardship, and I never hesitate to promote BARK Ranger in hopes that it will end negative experiences like the ones I’ve described. 

Fortunately, the vast majority of our visitors are responsible and well-behaved…and their humans are, too! Back in April, I met a longhaired dachshund (or, in layman’s terms, a fluffy weenie dog) who ended up helping us with a lesson. I was leading a group of 4th graders for a walk along Mountain Road when we came upon the pupper and the couple who owned him. Stopping young children from running towards a cute animal is like trying to stop the tides, and while I and the other ranger tried to keep the kids in line, we couldn’t stop the child tsunami from descending on the dog. I apologized to the couple and thanked them for their patience, and they happily laughed and told me not to fret: he’s a therapy dog, and hordes of hyper kids are an everyday occurrence for him! We turned this into a teaching moment about how to be gentle towards all living things, whether it’s a dog, a tiny slug, or even a plant. 

One of my favorite duties I perform at the park is manning our information kiosk in the parking lot. I love it because owners will come up with their dogs, and the pooches are almost always ready for cuddles. One day, I met a pair of fluffy chowchow twins who looked like ginger bears; another day, I met a charismatic corgi who laid down under the kiosk room and decided he was going to live there from now on. Some dogs are so excited that they literally cannot contain themselves-or, rather, their fluids. One day, a very happy mutt lifted his leg and aimed right for the side of the kiosk. His owner apologized profusely, but I just laughed and assured him that this wasn’t the first dog to do it, nor would he be the last. Heck, he probably wasn’t the last that week. 

I think what endears many dogs to the park is the smells all over. There are other dogs (and the puddles other dogs leave behind). There are various critters like foxes, bears, and every dog’s mortal enemy, the squirrel. There are sweet smells, like the air right before it rains, and there are smelly smells, like a pile of opossum poop. To a dog, all smells are good smells. I saw this with my sheltie, Rikki, when I took her for a visit to the park (and yes, I made sure she became a BARK Ranger!). Every five feet, she stopped to sniff where other dogs had been. Then she stopped to sniff a worm (who was probably confused as to why this large beast wasn’t trying to eat it), then a red eft (who made a beeline for the side of the trail), and then a beautiful cluster of asters. In doing so, she forced me to pay attention to things on the ground, things I normally would walk past without noticing. People come to the park for visual treats, like the mansion, or the view from Mount Tom. Rikki’s olfactory odyssey led her closer to the ground, and as I came along with her I got to stoop to her level. 

Like many outdoorsy types, my fellow staff at Marsh-Billings are also all dog lovers, and many of them have their own canine companions. In the time I’ve gotten to know my coworkers, I’ve also gotten aquatinted with their four-legged friends as well. There’s Scarlett the spaniel, a former shrinking violet who became much more outgoing after realizing that her owner isn’t the only human who has food. There’s Oakley, the massive pitbull who acts like a shy kindergartener when new faces arrive, trying to hide behind furniture that’s much smaller than he is. But if I had to pick a favorite office dog, it would be Otto. 

The beloved pet of Steve, our Natural Resources Manager, Otto is an elderly Weimaraner with a weird smile, a tendency to shed, and a single braincell. Naturally, everyone who meets him falls in love. When you stick out your hand for him to sniff, Otto will make a strange grin in which he pushes out his lower jaw, like he has an underbite, before showering you with kisses. His stomach is a black hole that he is constantly trying to fill, unaware that this mission is futile. Once, he smelled some peanut butter and immediately went looking for the source. Unfortunately, said source was a mouse trap. I, Steve, and the biotech Annie all heard the ensuing snap, immediately knew Otto was the cause, and turned around to see the stunned dog staring at us, confused as to why peanut butter would attack him like that. 

Even our volunteers are mostly dog lovers! Peg, one of our trail ambassadors, always carries treats with her on the trail to reward good dogs with. She has two (three until recently) border collies whom she dotes on constantly. Fran, who normally works in the Visitor’s Center, recruited me to dogsit for her beloved rescue Rosie. Rosie is a sweet old grandma mutt with a stump tail that never stops wagging so long as a friend is near. Judith, who stocks our bookstore, also hired me to dogsit her pooch, Brekkie (so named because his favorite meal is breakfast). Without exaggeration, he can be hugged all day. These dogs aren’t just cute faces-they allow me to make deeper bonds with my coworkers. 

It’s funny. I’ve always had dogs from the time I was 6 years old onward. One would think I’ve seen and learned all I can from them, but I continue to form new perspectives on life with every dog I meet. When hiking with a dog, you learn to consider tiny things you’d normally just step on, and stop to smell the roses (and worms, and toads, and other things dogs sniff). They can be living springboards for all sorts of lessons, from programs on responsible pet ownership to how all living things are deserving of respect. They make us smile on stressful days, and they bring together people by serving as a reason to hang out after work. I’m very fortunate that Marsh-Billings-Rockefeller NHP allows dogs, and I don’t want to imagine the park without them.