PUTTING ON THE DOG The Story and Passions of the Designer Dog Lady
	January/February 2005

by Donna Cooper
Photos by Russell Byrne

Every hot dog at my Designer Dog shop is served with a small paper parasol sticking out of the end of the wiener.

These parasols represent one of the world’s least significant commercial items; I buy them five bucks for a thousand from some Japanese trading company. But I love to see those little things sticking out of my hot dogs because they show that I’m trying to “put on the dog” for my customers.

Striving After Quality
I’m better at putting on the dog than anyone you will ever meet, perhaps. At least I work harder at this than anyone you’re likely to run into. Striving for quality, in order to make an impact, is far more for me than just putting on a show. I’ve always adamantly resisted business advisers who tried to convince me to increase profits by putting less-expensive meat into my hamburgers and hot dogs, and buy cheaper oil for my French fries.

I’m working hard to put enough quality into my food and into the presentation of that food to provide customers with pleasurable, perhaps even occasionally unforgettable, sandwich eating experiences.

I serve my customers with a friendly greeting that they might remember for the rest of the day. When I hand them their order, some customers are able to respond to a smile that is coming to them straight from the heart, and possibly to receive some happy laughter from a person who really is glad for a couple minutes to be their friend.

I cherish my customers. My commitment to the people I serve goes beyond making money. I refuse to take tips personally.

Not everyone responds well, of course, to my style of doing business. Some customers make fun of the parasols. Others complain that they could buy a couple hot dogs at 7-11 for the price of one of mine. I just try to be patient.

I guess the word “serve” is the real operative term for me. People ask me how I can spend 60 hours a week cooped up in my little shop. I’m glad to do this because I am continually touched myself by all the little acts involved in serving others.

Simply put, I take joy in meeting other people’s needs. For me there is a quality of grace, for lack of a better word, involved in serving a hungry person a great sandwich with a warm smile. I know it is just fast food, but after all, I read somewhere about a reward to be received from even a cup of cold water served with the right attitude to a thirsty person.

The whole “putting on the dog” thing has to do with public appearance and behavior. Of course, there is another side of me that people don’t see. I am plagued by migraine headaches, for example. I also have a quick temper and can be “mean when I’m messed with.”

I have my own personal devils, like everyone else in the world, but I’m trying to learn to keep them under control. I’m a work in progress but, for the most part, I’m a happy, fulfilled person.

New Beginnings
I was born in Beaumont, Texas. Even though I left in 1981, people say they can still hear East Texas in my voice.

I came to the Bay Area for the same reason everyone else came during the 80s — because I had a job with a hi-tech company. In my case, the company was Bechtel Corp.

My husband and I did the Grapes of Wrath thing to get here. We left Texas with no money and driving a car that we had completely assembled from the wheels up out of spare parts. We had to put eight quarts of oil into the thing every day, but maybe that only meant that it was running really smoothly.

Life in California had a few almost dream-like experiences. I ran into a casting director in Santa Cruz who made me the lead in a documentary movie. This was followed by lead roles in a number of commercials.

My life as a media star and Bechtel employee didn’t last long, and when we moved to Brentwood, I bought a cart and spent five years selling hot dogs in the Big Bee parking lot.

The idea for building a permanent hot dog stand came to me in a series of visions. I have no imagination; those were real experiences. The design came to me in parts. Structure by structure: round window on one day, oak wood on another, brass rail on another....

Designer Dogs almost failed that first year. I sold my Harley, my piano, one of the homes we owned, my jewelry.... I got into debt trouble. That was a woeful time in my life. When sales got really slow, I would take out the phone book and begin dialing up businesses, asking them. “Would you like food delivery?” I would ask the question 100 times in order to get one person to say, “Yes.”

There might be an easier way of becoming successful at this kind of business, but I don’t know what it is. It is just hard work! You have to persevere at this kind of thing. Like most real things in this world, I was required to have patience and work hard to get to the wonderful rewards waiting for me on the other side of the awful challenges.

Beyond Hot Dogs
I’m the kind of person who likes to get right into the middle of things. I sometimes make up meals in little bags and on Thanksgiving Day or Christmas will drive down to the City and hand them out to homeless people I find.

Some street people don’t respond very gracefully to such services. On one occasion I gave one of my lunches to a deranged lady on a street corner who proceeded to chase me down the sidewalk screaming that she was going to kill me. And I was expecting at the time!

I was glad when I ran into my husband who put himself between me and my attacker. Even then, however, I noticed that as the woman walked away she actually began to eat the lunch out of her bag.

I don’t know how much difference it makes to homeless people to get a brown bag meal that was made with love and offered with a warm smile. In a few cases, at least, I bet it makes a lot of difference.

Personal Disaster Response
Disasters call to me. For example, as soon as I heard about the awful Northridge earthquake I immediately rented a U-Haul truck and began driving around buying and picking up food and clothing. Stores all over town donated items with no questions asked.

Twenty-four hours after the buildings quit falling down I was on scene and handing out my relief items to the victims, many of who were in desperate need of the supplies I had brought.

I drove my U-Haul to the exact center of the disaster. I wasn’t supposed to be there and am not sure exactly how I managed to drive my truck right to the epicenter. I don’t know if my success at getting to a place that most news crews weren’t even able to get to had more to do with my smile, or with my attitude that it is easier in some situations to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission.

Sometimes you can be really efficient at meeting people’s needs if you don’t have any committees. I got into places the Red Cross hadn’t gotten to and met people they didn’t know about yet.

There were a few moments when I was actually a little frightened by the number of people crowding around my U-Haul. I was handing out clothes and food to people who desperately needed the help I was giving. I remember a father, holding a young child, bursting into tears as he received the bottle of milk I was holding out to him.

Other people were there with quite different motives, gouging victims by doing things like charging $10 for a half-gallon of milk.

A wonderful little miracle occurred in that I gave the last item out of my truck to the last person who was in line. I had packed into that truck exactly enough supplies for the needs that Someone knew would be waiting for me.

I drove back to Brentwood with an empty truck, a full heart, and with some memories that will be with me forever.

A Business for Life
My business occupies most of my time. Fortunately, my teen-age daughter is often cheerfully working beside me or I would really feel like a neglectful parent. Working together has been good for our relationship. The two of us are much closer, I think, than we would be if I were home every afternoon, and she was in her bedroom talking to boys on her telephone or surfing chat rooms on the Internet. We have fun with each other during our times together in the shop.

I sometimes fall asleep reading to my daughter in the evening. Right in the middle of a story I will suddenly blurt out, “Don’t forget to pay the plumber! Or “Watch how much garlic you’re putting in that!” It is pretty obvious what my mind is concentrating on even when I’m not conscious.

The fact is, I eat, breathe, and live for my shop. I can’t explain why exactly, except to say that maybe it comes from my conviction that I’ve been led to this business and was put behind that counter to meet people’s needs. Designer Dog exists for a purpose. This is the place where I am meant to be.

From the moment I get out of bed in the morning I begin getting ready to “put on the dog” for the people I’m going to serve that day. I’m planning to laugh, cry, and joke with my customers. I’m going to smile at lonely people. I’m going to feed good food to hungry folks.

Plus, I’m going to stick a parasol in the food I serve as a sign that I’m doing more than working for a buck. I’m working for excellence. I’m doing something special.

Next time you need a sandwich or a smile, come on by! I’ve got enough of both that I’m happy to serve them to you.