Bringing Exclusivity to Dogs, and Owners

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/01/03/fashion/ruff-club-brings-exclusivity-to-the-pet-world.html

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IS your dog Ruff Club material?  I wasn’t so sure about mine when I took her in for temperament testing the other day.  

The sleek “contemporary pet care hub,” which opens this week on Avenue A in the East Village, and aims to be a social spot for humans too, accepts only dogs it deems properly mannered.  Like the Soho House and Norwood clubs, it is members only, and while the $149 annual fee isn’t daunting, the screening process had me cowering.  The interview takes about an hour and is almost as rigorous as any for private school.

When I walked into the dog club — with its old-fashion wooden bar, artisanal Brooklyn-made toile wallpaper and leather club chairs — I was gripping Zoloft’s leash, certain that she wouldn’t pass muster. While she is mostly as good as her name, there are times when my Zoloft needs a Xanax. It isn’t her piercing bark when strangers come to the door. It’s her growling at other dogs, absurdly low for a longhaired miniature dachshund. She also has intense separation anxiety.

Divine as she is, at times I feel as if I have a maladjusted teenager on my hands.  

Would she be accepted? Danny Frost, 29, a downtown public interest lawyer who owns and runs the place with Alexia Simon Frost, his wife, was hoping to reassure me. “We’re not trying to create a master race of dogs,” said Mr. Frost, who is fit and well-groomed. “We’re just trying to screen out certain issues that are deal breakers.”

Those include “toy aggression” and the inability to share treats; not allowing a handler to put on a collar or take her for a walk; excessive cowering and barking; and showing the intense separation anxiety that Zoloft shows when left with friends.

“We want dogs to enjoy it here and if one is fearful and anxious it causes anxiety in others,” said Ms. Simon Frost, 29, who wore a chic black-on-black ensemble that would not do well with shedding dogs in lighter shades. “We want them to thrive.”

She added that the Ruff Club, which offers scholarships and community programs, does not screen humans for hipness.

“And for dogs like yours, we provide a generous separation anxiety window,” Mr. Frost said, reassuringly. The behavioral data is entered into an iPad-ready database so that any staff member, whether a concierge or handler, knows what to expect. If an otherwise lovely dog loses its cool around, say, balls, it will be noted.

“It’s very situational,” Mr. Frost said. “All dogs are different.”

While the owners chatted with me, a dog handler named Lisa Lane (who has an advanced degree in animal behavior) had taken Zoloft downstairs to a playroom to test whether she could be easily handled. She was now whisking Zoloft past me for a walk outside.

I ran after them as fast as a helicopter parent chasing a teacher down the hall at an open house. I wanted to warn Ms. Lane that Zoloft sometimes growls and lunges at other dogs. Ms. Lane looked at me with what seemed to be amused concern. “If you stop tensing up and yanking her leash when you see other dogs, she’ll relax,” she said.

“Do you think I’m being overprotective?” I asked.

“I do,” she replied. “But dogs are like our babies.”

“Don’t worry,” Ms. Simon Frost added when we were back inside, where other dogs were undergoing interviews. “Your dog will get into a good college.”

Yes, but would she get into the Ruff Club?

OVER-THE-TOP dog spas are not all that new, of course. And the focus on exclusivity suggests the same competitive urges of urban parents obsessed with getting their toddlers into the right schools. And just as the nursery-school-age population in Manhattan has surged since 2000, particularly among wealthy white families, the pet population in New York City is now estimated at 1.1 million, according to the New York City Economic Development Corporation, with a 30 percent increase in the pet care industry from 2000 to 2010.

At any rate, it wouldn’t be the first time that dog care has been compared to child-rearing. “Treating your dog as a person can be a kind of aesthetic error, albeit one that’s becoming ever more common,” writes John Homans in “What’s a Dog For?” which explores the history and sociology of human-canine relationships.

The Ruff Club seizes upon this zeitgeist. “But we won’t infantilize dogs the way other spas do,” Ms. Simon Frost said. “We won’t give out report cards or talk in high-pitched voices.” She makes a point of calling her place “dog” day care not “doggy.” And unlike other high-end dog spas, the Ruff Club, which costs a competitive $29 for day boarding and $49 for overnight, doesn’t offer yoga, massage or any forms of coddling.

“We just don’t think that’s appropriate for the East Village,” she said.

To be honest, I was the one in need of coddling. Zoloft was now halfway through the screening, and because seeing me would disrupt things, I hid behind a door while a handler tested other dogs in the clinical, white downstairs playroom.

I could hear Zoloft’s anxious barking as she was brought down to socialize with others, including a Boston terrier so mild mannered and playful that I felt jealous that my own wasn’t nearly as social. In fact, all the dogs seemed to be equally playful. The only time I see Zoloft so carefree is at home, when she is playing with me.

I stood in the dark, waiting to catch a glimpse of her through a small window, expecting to see her in a corner, tail between her legs, avoiding the other dogs.

To my surprise, what I saw was her getting sniffed and then sniffing right back without lunging or cowering. And her mouth was open in a way that most trainers consider an indication of ease. “You’re a little cutie,” I heard a handler tell her.

I’m embarrassed to admit that I was choking up, like a protective parent watching the little one go off to school. Could my fur-child (as some call pets these days) function happily without me? Was it possible that my dog wasn’t as maladjusted as I had thought?

She did fantastically, the handler told me when I accosted him in the next room. “She played with another dog and wasn’t nervous at all.”

“But she didn’t play with all the other dogs,” I said.

“So she’s not as social and likes to do her own thing — nothing wrong with that,” he said. “If it’s not a big deal to you, it won’t be a big deal to her.”

It was becoming clear that Zoloft was Ruff Club material after all. She looked so comfortable with a half-dozen other dogs in the large playroom upstairs (with its high definition webcam — one of many tech features) that I wondered if our visit had a therapeutic effect on the both of us.

“She was nervous when she came in,” Ms. Lane, the chief handler, said. “But in a short time she’s improved so much. It would be nice to see her here again.”

Then she looked down at Zoloft and said, “You really came out of your shell.”

A moment later, other owners were coming in to pick up their dogs. They all tested well, and Ms. Simon Frost was telling them, with great pleasure, that they had been accepted. One owner said he was especially relieved because his dog was hyperactive from being cooped up after surgery. And the owner of that preternaturally perfect Boston terrier, who looked and sounded as self-possessed as his dog, had concerns as well.

“Her one issue is that she’s obsessed with balls,” he said. “I have to put them away or it leads to trouble at the dog run.”

Ms. Simon Frost said that balls often cause the worst fights at dog parks.

“The dog run should be ball free,” he said.

I had to smile. Even top dogs have their issues, I guess, and so do their owners.