Friday, September 28, 2018

Puppies


Over the years, every experience I had with other people's pets became fodder for future jobs.  I thought I had enough variety to prepare me for this job. I had worked with single pet families, ones with too many and others who preferred a mixture. Cats, dogs, rabbits, birds, tropical fish and the occasional exotic filled my hours away from home.  Thankfully the only exotic had been a green slider turtle!  I never accepted a job to care for anything that crawled or slithered. My mental tool kit, however, was lacking any usable gadget when it came to a pair of blonde Cocker Spaniel puppies.

This job came by means of a recommendation from a long time client. It's been so many years, that details are evasive, but those puppies, I remember.  I recall their owner to be a retired, refined woman whose life was an open book...literally, every table top had an opened Bible.  I won't go there...

Her home was not puppy proof.  In her mind, one baby gate blocking the master bedroom from the en suite, would be fine. In that sequestered tiled bathroom, were pee pads and a water dish. A well stocked counter top of floor and multi purpose cleaners cluttered an otherwise pristine bathroom.
A mop and bucket were tucked into a corner.

Their food bowls were in the kitchen with an additional water source on the wooden tiered deck.
The absence of any fencing in the yard left me wondering if she was experienced with "puppydom".

Puppies are stupid. Charming yes, good smelling, yes, but dumber than the proverbial rock. Multiply that times two and you will begin to understand that this was THE ONLY TIME, I made an exception to my no dog under a year old rule.

I would take a special needs pet over a puppy any time.  IV drips, syringes, splints, casts, and three legged animals had nothing over them.

I was ill prepared and extremely willing which was a bad combination. Three days ran together
in a blur and not the slow motion variety.  Puppies function on warp speed because they can.
What they eat comes back out rather quickly.  They don't understand the need to circumvent
the mess. So, frequent paw washing was required.  Thankfully, the laundry room was between the master suite and the kitchen, so it was a routine we established on day one.

Our days began around 5:00 A. M. Puppies were already up and ready for breakfast.  One puppy to the laundry tub and then to a kennel.  Second pup ditto except, I kept him wrapped in a towel and let the first one out. Two sprinted to the kitchen for meal time.  Once last bite was consumed, both out to the deck and yard.  Having to teach them how to navigate the steps to the lawn took considerable bribing. Grass was wet at that pre dawn hour.  They'd rather not. But...if there were enough bugs hopping, they'd give it a go.  Sometimes the bugs didn't head in the same directions, so I had two puppies scattered across five or six unfenced yards.  Thankfully, grass slowed them down and I could scoop one and then the other.  To finish the exercise period, we'd wander the deck and investigate the good smells wafting from the container gardens.

The arbor was overflowing with petunias.  Their dripping sweetness invited further inspection. Tired out, it was time for a nap and back over the baby gate they went.  At this point, I had to clean up and dispose of any soiled pads.  That was a game they both loved. Seems the pee pad I wanted to remove was the exact one I couldn't have because one of the dogs was dragging it across the floor.

Yelps and attempts to goad my guilty conscience followed me out the front door and into the car.

This schedule was repeated every three hours except for the final visit around eleven P. M. The daylight challenges were met with a sense of accomplishment because I could SEE them.  Post sunset necessitated every available exterior light and a personal flash light.  After dark invited nature to encroach on the spans of open yards; that included native wildlife and an occasional misplaced neighbor's dog.  I was lucky to only encounter a couple of box turtles, one snapping variety, bunnies and a non venomous snake. Each a potential playmate!  Funny, the owner hadn't thought to purchase any collar, leash or harness. So to answer my earlier question as to whether she had experience in puppydom that would be  a "nooooooo".

It is hardly fair to say that I had any success in their training.  Seventy two hours is nothing
to a young mind.  Everything in their lives was instinctual.  Eat, poop, pee, play, nap and repeat.
Sadly, the owner suffered an injury chasing one of them up a hallway.  Her recovery period
was extensive and she was unable to keep them.  I don't know what happened.

Too many years have passed since that one and only time I cared for the pair of very, very young of the canine variety. I recall the house and the woman very well.  I pass by the neighborhood and memories color my otherwise uneventful drive down the interstate.

I always hope for the best, try not to judge or question that over which I have no control.

I choose to remember the hours of joy we shared for it was predestined to be a labor of love
on my journey as a professional pet sitter.




Monday, September 24, 2018

The Ants Came Marching

Persons employed in the home pet care industry are, for the most part, good natured, flexible and
conscientious.  We bring with us a variety of experiences and when among like minded professionals,
share and exchange bits of advice.

In all my years, I met only one other pet sitter.  Our meeting was strange, in a sense, because MY client was HER neighbor.  We'd pass each other several times in traffic and waive. She drove a van with painted advertisement on the doors. I drove a personal car with no exterior advertisement, but my animal themed scrubs were a dead giveaway that I was either a veterinary tech, groomer or pet sitter.  Our town was rather close knit.  Someone whom you knew, knew someone else and eventually
being recognized became the norm.  Not that we all lived in a Mr. Roger's neighborhood, but word of mouth was the best publicity gimmick possible.  In all my years, I never spent money on advertising and I topped my career with a clientele of more than sixty customers.

I stopped by on a whim one day as I was caring for that particular neighbor's pet. Her home doubled as a dog training center.   The living room had been converted into a gymnasium that one might expect to see in an equestrian training facility, except miniaturized.  She eagerly showed off one of her own going through the paces.  We exchanged hugs and business cards. I tucked her cards into my briefcase (overflowing with my own files for the day) and headed to another part of the city.
Truthfully, in the early years, when establishing my business, I would travel cross county and sometimes cover a couple of hundred miles in a day.  Especially at holiday time, my calendar runneth over and fifteen hour days were the norm.

But that's another story...

This story is about uninvited house guests.

Max was a solid black Shih Tzu who lived in a three bedroom house in a cul de sac of a wandering neighborhood.  There was no sense of a grid system as far as streets.  If you didn't have GPS (and I didn't), you might have to navigate by types of trees or number of driveways.  I wouldn't give two stars to the committee who planned that community! His house was so new, that the paint was barely dry to indicate the house number on the curb. Forget reading mailboxes, the community had a community mail box, a community pool, a community park...well you know what I'm saying. There was so much new construction, the traffic flow was squeezed between the concrete mixers, flat beds and school busses.

Max was weary.  Weary of new people, weary of his leash and weary of his own shadow.  Totally un-Shih Tzu like. Reading his body language was difficult because his ears lay back 24/7.  Thankfully, I had the experience to know that a bath towel carefully laid over him from the tail to the head would calm him enough that I could pick him up.  Trust is EVERYTHING in this business.  If you loose that, you might as well hand in your resignation.

Walks became less scary. His fenced backyard was often the playground of feral rabbits. Max soon realized that his life was more than cowering in a corner and waiting for his people.

Part of my business ethics was minimum housekeeping.  I liked order and preferred to leave a client's
home welcoming.  I didn't mind an occasional sink of dishes or unattended trash can. Those were easy fixes.  If my job was long term, I would launder overflowing hampers and vacuum and dust.
These eccentricities always assured a generous gratuity.  I must explain that my several daily visits were not just run in and run out.  I would stay as long as my schedule allowed- usually an hour.

Max began to greet me at the door; ears still back, but tail tip swayed.  He learned to associate my visits with meal times and walks. He knew that I would let him in his yard to chase bunnies and that he wouldn't be left in the dark at night.  All was running smoothly well into the second week until...

I opened the silverware drawer to get the can opener and was met with dozens of fire ants!  Where
did they come from?  They weren't there yesterday! I couldn't move fast enough. My first concern was Max.  I grabbed him and put him in the bathroom behind closed doors.  I rushed into the kitchen and searched the cabinets for ant spray.  I rushed into the garage and searched the shelves for ant spray.
Not to be found.   I grabbed paper towels, wrung them out and wiped the ants off the counter top.
Luckily I had found some rubber gloves and pulling them on over my several oozing blisters,
kept wiping the ants into oblivion.

Max was scratching at the bathroom door, but I felt his imprisonment would be the least of my immediate concerns.

I found the entry point to the parade of unwelcome house guests.  Found a tube of caulking and
filled the crevice.  The parade stopped.

I emptied the drawer of silverware into the dishwasher and started it.  I emptied the cabinets below the drawer of all the contents and checked high and low for additional evidence.  Nothing found.
So I washed everything washable that I had removed and left on the counter to dry.

I took off the gloves and counted the welts..maybe five or six.  Taking my hand into the same bathroom that Max was in, I looked for the first aid kit.  Nope.  Not there. My hand was throbbing.

I called the client.  She was very apologetic, told me where to find the peroxide, ointment and bandages.  Who knew- they were in the guest room bed side table!

My hand, looking like a part of a bad halloween mummy costume, was burning hot and unusable.
I had to pick up a frightened Max one handed and carry him outside.  Sorry, Max, no walk today!

We got through the excitement. I went home, had my hand attended to and went back to tuck Max in.

The next morning, I received a text message that the pest control technician would be there, could I meet him?  OF COURSE!

So Max and I sat on the couch and watched the technician de-ant the kitchen. Going into the garage, he applied the poison to the other half of the entry point.  He checked the other rooms and gave an all clear.  Asking me if I was from the area, he said "Yeah, with all this new construction, the ants gotta go somewhere!"

If I could have licked my paw, I would have. But I was Max's protector and I felt he realized that
everything would be okay.  He kinda winked at me which made his ears straighten up- which was a very good sign.

Saturday, September 22, 2018

Family Heirloom

As I'm writing this story, Penny the Calico is draped over my right arm, watching my fingers fly across the keyboard.  She's fascinated and I'm impressed by the accuracy of my typing!

She used to belong to a family.  When I met her, she was the sole "baby" of the household.  The couple who shared her two bedroom, 2nd-floor apartment was military.  Their shifts varied, sometimes both gone at the same time and that's when my phone rang.

Penny taught me that cats could be trusted walking the balcony railing. She taught me to leave the bathroom tap dripping because she preferred fresh water. She taught me to read the canned cat food label and if it didn't say "fish", not to open it.

Her family grew and my clients welcomed a daughter into their "purrfect" home. There were perks that came with babies! Penny had more toys to play with.  Her owners were considerate of her bouts of jealousy.  Every time I came, the cat toy box had multiplied and there were new baskets of catnip mouses and plastic noise balls. Tufts of feathers, at the ends of fishing poles, swayed when the patio door opened-welcoming the enticing ocean breeze.

On an ordinary day, their number appeared on the voicemail icon of my cell phone.  I checked my schedule for the next six weeks and dialed.  With pencil in hand and calendar open, the voice on the other end of the phone was panic-stricken.  She blurted,  "Ms. Laura, Help! Penny attacked the baby, my husband said, "Get rid of her!" I don't want to take her to the pound.  Please come and tell me what to do. I will have her carrier and food ready.  How soon can you get here?"

My heart sank, my lunch came back up and lodged in my throat.  I was there in just minutes and she greeted me with tears streaming.  Penny was in the carrier, wild-eyed and voicing a terrified meow.
There was no screaming baby, no opened first aid kit. Their little girl was playing in her crib.

Penny was declawed...how does a declawed cat "attack", I wondered? The tension of the moment
did not allow time for my questions. I had been summoned and was expected to resolve the crisis. Her husband was not there, so I don't know anything beyond what happened next.

"I'll give her a home", I said in as reassuring a voice as I could manage.  Don't worry, she's not going to the shelter or a foster home.  She's coming with me. We hugged, I picked up the carrier, grabbed the grocery bag of food, treats, toys and the remaining box of litter.

In minutes, we were home.  My dogs were interested in their new playmate and the calmness of my home was replaced by happy chaos for days afterward.

I received a holiday card with a photo of the three people family members and a return address.  I didn't keep it.  I felt differently about them. I felt differently about me.

I don't question the universal wisdom.   It was meant to be and Ms. Penny stretching,  extends her paw to embrace my neck in a hug that says it all.








Thursday, September 20, 2018

Real Estate

My clients had the great fortune to move into a custom build in a gated community.  By the time I saw the house, I'd known and cared for Cinnamon maybe half a year.

I wasn't sure how she would react to an 8 foot fenced yard.  Little did I know that wasn't going to be her only challenge.  Coming from a home with water front acreage and an underground electric fence, Cinnamon would need a period of adjustment.

The yard was, shall we say cozy.  No need to mow it, that was part of the charm of this neighborhood.
Lawn care and security were provided.  Every home, from a drive by distance, was well maintained.
No R v's or excessive motorized vehicles spilling from the driveway were allowed. Perfect for
my clients, as he was pretty high up in the ranks of the United States Air Force. They had an open bar policy on Fridays (when in residence), which meant neighbors were expected at fifteen hundred hours for  Hors D'oeurves .

Cinnamon was not a complainer.  She was more like a voice controlled companion, which I took exception to, but rules were rules.  She knew her routine and if I forgot what, when or how to do something, she was able to guide me.

At the time we were introduced (at the old house), her mistress showed off the wall of awards
her companion had  in the hunting community.  She could out bird the competition. She could (to hear the Missus tell it), out bird the hunter!

Being the fine example of champion Fox red labrador, her retirement came as an unwelcome change to her routine.  No more car rides to the river, no more wearing of the retrieving collar, no more donning on the safety vest.  She was relegated to a life of luxury....which she hated.

To compensate for her missed hunting trips, Cinnamon and I took long walks twice a day.  We cut through lawns to the intra coastal waterway and spent hours gazing at her former life.  Every afternoon at two, a pod of dolphins would head east. The herons claimed their sand bars and occasionally, a Bald Eagle would grace our upturned faces.

There was give and take in her new life.  She was learning to be flexible. She was learning how to be old.

My phone rang to inquire about a three week job with Cinnamon.  Could I come over, there was something that needed explaining.  My heart skipped a beat, fearing that her health was the issue.
I don't know why, my instincts kicked in, but the years of pet sitting experience, had prepared me to expect great changes.  Little did I know.

Yes, changes were coming.  A swimming pool!  I couldn't believe it; there was hardly room for more than a lap pool in that back yard.  My heart sank.  Cinnamon's world was shrinking.

From day one, work crews occupied the former two postage stamp sized yard, bringing in back hoes and shovels. Sod was relegated to side yard. Cinnamon was now to be taken through kitchen, mudroom and through the garage to the side lawn. A temporary fence kept her curiosity at bay.
That same temporary fence allowed me to check in with the crew.  I learned a few words of Portuguese and they learned that cigarettes were not allowed on the property, and neither was
any rubbish.  Hiding it in the displaced mounds of dirt wouldn't work either.  We all got along and by the time the owners returned, it was time to buy patio furniture and a pool float in Florida Gator
colors.

Lost was the simple life Cinnamon had thought she would have.  Now she had to be cautious navigating the narrow concrete border between pool and fence. Now she had to endure endless pool parties with grand kids and neighbors.  Now she understood and it broke my heart.

Months, not even another year, Cinnamon passed. I can't help thinking of the song "Big Yellow Taxi" that Joni Mitchell made famous..."They paved paradise and put up a parking lot", but in this case it was a Mediterranean blue tiled swimming pool..




Sunday, September 16, 2018

Scaredy Cats

Cat owners are a trusting group.  They TRUST their companions will survive a people-less home with extra food and maybe a back up litter box for those sequestered to the indoors. It is only when the people must be away for weeks, that the need arises for an extra person to supervise the independent feline.

The duo I met at the interview were female, Ms. Annie- a tabby, obesely uncomfortable and the other, Penelope (Peeps, for short) -a kittenish Swiffer tailed, domestic long hair. They shared their house with two adults in a brand new, alarmed custom build.  The neighborhood was clean and orderly where dogs walked their people in the same direction at the same time daily.

This job should be very uncomplicated.

Instructions for cat maintenance did not include any surprises. Veterinarian and trusted neighbor
contact info was scrawled in the bottom margin of the typed sheet of paper. A quick tour of the two story didn't take very long. Housekeeping was immaculate and furnishings high end.  You know, the kind of couches where you slide off if not tucked in... The centerpiece of the great room was the great television.  It was their version of a sports arena scoreboard and oh, the myriad remotes.

I was invited to help myself to the wine bar and any snacks.  The dish washer was computerized, but I could hand wash the dishes.

Concluding the "meet and purr" was the review of the security system.  A keypad, remote and voice activated key fob were offered.  I could select what method of entry I wanted.  I asked if I could just have the remote to the garage and an interior key.  Funny, that WASN'T an option.
I chose keypad.  Oh, and the security code word was *****.

Well, first time for everything.  I practiced and to the delight of the owner, aced the course.  Feeling
full of my self, I left and would return the next morning.

Day number one, rolled effortlessly into consecutive days of a two week job.  Cats had me on ignore for the entire first week. It was only after I helped myself to some tuna fish, that my presence disrupted their routine. For the remaining week, they would descend the staircase in hopes of
another tidbit.

I am blaming the following depiction on an impromptu nap on the longest of those slip and slide Italian leather couches.  The sun cascading through the full wall of windows lent to an invitation I just couldn't resist. . .

Waking some SEVERAL minutes past my intended departure, I sat down to journal the time spent with Peeps and Ms. Annie- "uneventful and restful. Thank you for allowing me the flexibility to enjoy your lovely home"  or something like that.  My daily reports are what set me apart from my competition.  I was licensed, insured and detail oriented.  My notes may save a life in the future-but that's another story.

"Click, click, click, arm" and I opened the door expecting the beep confirmation.  Nothing.
Ok.  "Click, click, click, "disarm", set".  Nothing.  AND THEN mechanical screams emanated from the bowels of the house. The volume shattered me and suddenly their was cat hair everywhere.
Phone rang "Code, what code, who is this? This is the pet sitter. No the owners are in HAWAII!
"******" came from the recesses of my semi conscious mind, "******", I repeated, is the code.
"Thank you, we'll reset the alarm. Have a nice day".

Oh, the embarrassment of it all! I really didn't want to reopen the door. I needed to find the cats. I found one-fat Annie had managed to slither over the side of the jetted tub in the master bedroom, three flights up. I let her chill.  Peeps had vanished into a private hiding space that only the family cat knows. She'd come out in a day or two. Meanwhile,  there was a small crowd gathering out front; people frantically dialing their cell phones and then...

My "nice day" was ushered in by two police cars and armed officers standing on the driveway. Between us and a long distance phone call, the "incident" as it was known, settled into history and upon the return visit, I found the instructions to the Roomba and put my feet up, grabbed a glass of Riesling and coaxed the cats from under the furniture.

Funny, I was asked for my business card by the president of the HOA on a subsequent visit. He winked and said "and I do NOT have a security system."






Help I've Fallen...

What do you think when you hear "Pet sitter"?  I had to research various viewpoints as I toyed with the idea of self employment.

I would be competing with kids and neighbors, veterinary technicians and "professionals".  I knew I could do this.  I have had animal companions in my homes since I can't even recall when. Most of the people I have ever known have had animals in their lives and that fact could lead to some serious earning potential.  So, on an inspired day, I created my own business on paper.  Then I obtained proper credentials, (a dishonesty bond and insurance), licensure through the city, and work attire.
Self publishing a brochure and business cards would cinch it and soon, I'd be living my American dream.
Well, almost..I had a ten month secretarial job, so this dream would sustain me during the summer and holiday vacations which rounded out the public school schedule.

The years of experience and fact that I never spent money on advertising (all word of mouth), grew my business and I found myself having to turn new clients away.  Great stuff, right?

The nature of this business, within the service community, is challenging.  There are many
"normal" situations, as one might expect.  There are also abnormal scenarios and there's no
way to anticipate the challenge until you walk through someone's front door.  Such is the case here.

My phone rang.  New number. New client. "I have a few pets..." she said.  Is your rate per day or per animal? "Per day", I replied.

That, right there SHOULD HAVE clued me in. But hey, I'm a business person and my schedule was open.

Walking in the door PAST THE SEVERAL pet food dishes,water bowls and makeshift kennels on the front porch, I was squeezed into a narrow hallway with a trifold screen in front of what would be the dining room and the entrance to the kitchen.  More food bowls, battery operated water fountains,
and a couple of greyhounds sprawled through the legs of the kitchen chairs. One of them rudely
interrupted from her nap as the owner pulled out the chair for me.

We sat and conversed and through the half hour or so, different cats paraded through the kitchen.
The parade was highlighted by two more dogs. 'WARNING, WARNING, LEAVE NOW, SAY NO",
said the voices in my head.

I didn't listen and took the job.  It haunts me still.

I don't know how I did it, but I did.

Every day, I cleaned and filled the dishes and bowls on the front porch.  Daily, I dutifully
cleaned and filled the dishes and bowls through out the house. I followed the recipes for the special needs animals.  I changed the litter boxes. I chased kittens over and through stacks of boxes and clothes in the hallways and bathtubs.  Exercising the dogs was an opportunity to remove myself from the stench inside.  They were grateful for the smell of anything but what was inside.

I became intimately acquainted with hiding places and crevices. I learned never to open a door without hindsight. I learned if i rang the doorbell, MOST of the inhabitants would appear, even briefly and I could take a head count.

The worst of it was the time I lost a kitten or she lost me AND it was in the room behind the trifold screen. I saw her go in. I removed the screen and knew my super powers would have to kick into overdrive. The boxes and stacks and towers of stuff had been in that room many years.  Dead plants
peeked through cracks in the chaos.  I saw the beginning of this hoard.  The innocent pile of daily papers and magazines had been relegated to the top of the side table.  That pile grew and competed for attention, finally giving up it's last breath to much bigger piles and stacks.

I walked toward a clearing, just big enough to stand up in if I didn't touch anything. Mews and meows came from behind something which was behind something else.  Inhaling and verifying I had my cell phone in my pocket, I hopscotched to another just big enough spot, swooped the kitten up and fell backwards, scattering stuff in all directions. If there had been a fire, it would be the end of this story.

I couldn't get leverage, I couldn't get to my knees but I had the kitten by the scruff of her neck.
Calmly thumb dialing the owner, I explained my predicament.  She was grateful I hadn't called the authorities or screamed for help.  I should have, I was dry drowning.

I was glad to see my client. I was glad to tell her I quit.

Driving away, I struggled with the urge to contact the SPCA.  That was the second time I didn't listen to the voices in my head.

It wasn't too many months later, that an article appeared in the newspaper.  An arrest had been made and the animals had been confiscated.

As for me, I am grateful that someone was watching out for them and...me.