About the Camp

Camp Puppy Haven sits in the hills of Vermont and has been in operation since 1974, which makes it older than most of its staff by a comfortable margin and older than all of its management, who are dogs.

I should say that plainly, since people ask. The dogs run the place. The humans are here to open doors, carry things, and be told when it is time to go outside. Nobody has found a better arrangement, and several have tried.

The camp takes its name from Puppy, a terrier–cocker spaniel mix who is entirely real and who has crossed the country to California and back more times than most people who own luggage. She came home to Vermont each time. She has never explained why, and it has never seemed necessary.

On the camp's books she is Sgt. Puppy, and she keeps the watch. Every weekday she files a Field Note: a short report on what happened, who was involved, and what she made of it. Her partners rotate (the Goose, Murph, Doris, Dave) and so do her superiors, Captain Otis, Mabel, and Burl among them, each of whom believes they are in charge. The notes are free and ask nothing of you. On Saturday the week's worth goes out together as the Dispatch.

I'm Claire. I mind the camp store, which mostly means I am near the door when things happen. I didn't grow up here. I came for a look and have not finished looking.

What I can tell you is that the camp runs on a simple idea: your dog already knows how to spend a day. Be where you are. Get over it quickly. Go outside when it's time. The rest of us are catching up.

Camp is in session. Come in.