Dog People

There’s another Ivy League institution in New Haven. Things get a bit hairier there.

By all accounts, Enzo—just shy of his third birthday—is pampered.

“He’s our only child, so he definitely gets spoiled,” his dad, local electrician Anthony Nicefaro, admits. It’s pickup time at Enzo’s daycare, and we’re chatting as Anthony waits for him to come out.

Enzo sleeps in bed with Anthony and his fiancée every night. He demands attention—particularly for his favorite nap spot on Anthony’s lap. Despite not caring much for winter coats, Enzo has several.

“There he is,” Anthony says, breaking into a smile. His voice rises to a coo.

Out comes Enzo: a bouncing, slobbering blaze of energy catapulting himself onto Anthony and me. Enzo is a tan-and-white coated mutt—part pit bull, lab, and Australian herding dog.

Enzo does not attend a normal daycare. This is Paw Haven, a luxury doggy daycare and boarding facility in New Haven. You know you’re in the right place when you hear the chorus of yowls and yaps. Then there’s the smell: disinfectant, cleaner, a faint hint of urine.

The massive industrial lot boasts perpetually scrubbed orange epoxy floors, dozens of cameras, indoor and outdoor turf lawns, and rows and rows of glass-doored puppy rooms. Pet parents can drop their pups off for weekly daycare sessions or weeks-long boarding. Paw Haven is the largest facility of its kind in Connecticut.

On a busy day, more than a hundred dogs trot through Paw Haven’s glass doors. They bring their own toys, their own special blankets, their own monogrammed leashes. They wear T-shirts and pants and coats. Staff members greet each by name.

Paw Haven is as ridiculous and silly as it sounds, but it is also deeply serious. People want their pets to be known, loved, and cared for—and they’ll pay the price to make it happen.

Paw Haven’s location near Yale is convenient: the daycare markets “Ivy League” care on its website. Paw Haven’s most popular packages ring in at $650 for twenty daycare sessions a month and $620 for a ten night boarding stay.

The “campus” offers only the best for its furry pupils—memory foam beds and pet-specific pheromones blasted through the HVAC to lessen pet anxiety. “Human-centric” dogs—those who prefer faculty company to that of their canine classmates—can book individual play time with members of the twenty-four person staff. Pet parents receive daily report cards about their pets, complete with photos and multi-sentence updates. There’s even a yearbook for the founders’ class of 2020.

This Ivy League process is complete with an interview. Behind a tinted glass door in the reception area marked only with the word ADMISSIONS and a paw print, prospective parents answer a slew of questions: Have they ever been to daycare before? Do they have any behavioral issues? Any illnesses? Allergies? What’s their play style? Do they like men, women? The process is, of course, holistic.

General Manager Donald Willis introduces me to his class: Adeline, and Strike, and Sydney, and Cairo, and Claire, and Yael. Each one is slobbery and smiley, leaping to attention when they see Donald’s face emerge in their enclosure. Donald has curly dark facial hair and a partial sleeve of Disney-inspired tattoos. He’s sort of like one of his three labradors: warm, bubbly, and driven.

Dressed in a blue Paw Haven-branded T-shirt, he bounds through the brightly-lit hallways, pointing at each dog and easily talking, as if introducing a series of star students.

There’s Kennedy, a black-and-white dog with a Yale collar who can be a bit “spicy” and is “kind of a pee-pee boy.” I look down, and there is indeed pee, seemingly fresh, on the orange epoxy floor and now the soles of my white shoes. Donald’s wide stance reveals the skill of someone who has evolved to avoid these incidents before they are promptly cleaned.

We walk past the massive collar and leash board—each dog uses their own gear when they’re here. The accessories are top-of-the-line: Kate Spade, Gucci, and $400 collars on the rack. Tiny, quivering Minnie wears a Strawberry Shortcake sweatshirt, and teenage Nellie rocks a “Boss Pants On” hoodie. On any given day, Donald says, at least fifteen to twenty of the dogs are wearing clothes—even more in the wintertime, with their coats.

“There’s a dog that just left here after boarding for a week that was wearing corduroy pants,” Donald said.

It’s hard to believe these creatures descended from wolves. Indeed, for much of human history, dogs—the first domesticated animals—lived much more rugged lives. They wrangled livestock, helped hunters, pulled sleds, and guarded homes. They did it all without winter coats.

But for almost as long as there have been working dogs, there have been pampered ones, too. During the Renaissance, French King Henry III carried his beloved bichons around in a little basket tied around his neck with a ribbon. At the turn of the twentieth century, the last Nawab of Junagadh Muhammad Mahabat Khan spoiled his hundreds of dogs with custom suits, private bedrooms, servants, and even a royal dog wedding.

This past century has seen an interesting trend: the art of dog-spoiling has become more accessible. By the mid-twentieth century, even the common pets were invited indoors.

“When I was growing up, our dog just played in the backyard,” Donald said. “They slept in the garage. My black lab has her own bedroom in my house. She’s got her own queen-sized bed in there.”

Paw Haven’s clientele certainly includes New Haven royalty. “We have treasurers; we have mayors; we have congressmen; we have doctors,” Donald proudly said. “Most of the heads of the big departments at Yale bring their dogs here.”

Mayor Justin Elicker’s rescue, Captain, comes to Paw Haven. “He comes in here very distinguished,” Donald said, “very…food-motivated.” But not all of Paw Haven’s clients are public figures or professors. Some are just everyday people who share the desire to give their dogs the best life possible.

More than half of American households have pets. About half of all US. pet owners say their pets are “as much a part of their family as a human member,” according to a 2023 study by the Pew Research Center. Pet owners may pamper their animals for the same reasons parents seek comfort for their human children: a desire for loved ones to lead a better, fuller life.

“The most unexpected thing is how passionate dog-parents are compared to just parent-parents,” Donald said. “We get a lot of people who come from doing child daycare, and they’re like, wow, the owners here are so much more involved than just shoving their kid off on the little school bus…This is their family member who can’t speak.”

For a relationship without words, there certainly is a lot of communication. The sheer level of contact pet parents can have with their pets throughout a Paw Haven day is shocking: access to daycare and pet cubby live streams from numerous angles, a dedicated receptionist to field phone calls, active email, texts, and daily report cards. Donald recounted nights where he’d respond to messages at 2 a.m. from anxious owners.

“You really are the voice of both the owner to the dog, and the dog to the
owner,” Donald said. Ideally, dropping a dog off at Paw Haven is like leaving a child with their favorite relative. That relative just happens to be Pet CPR and First Aid Certified.

“We know about all the weddings, the babies, the changes in jobs, the moving,” Donald said, “just as much as probably their family members know, because we build such a bond over their animals.”

When we first met, Donald told me, “We are really a people business; we’re not really an animal business.” After meeting the people and pets behind this industry—all of whom were dressed better than I was—the difference seems smaller now.

Abbey Kim is a senior in Branford College and former Editor-in-Chief of The New Journal.