Table Manners

As far as I know, a manual for pet sitting didn't exist at the time I said yes to my brother.  If it had, I would have bought it in the hopes there would have been a chapter on diplomacy.

My sister in law was a pet sitter and she accepted both clients on a drop off basis and in their homes. Her very successful business was the inspiration (in part) to my own flourishing career.   I was grateful she had canceled her normal route for the afternoon I was in charge. I only had to be concerned with the family pets and a handful of day care clients. Two were in a terrarium. I had never cared for anything which grew scales; the pair of bearded dragons placed me on ignore. I would have forgotten they were even there if it had not been that the location of their temporary home was on the coffee table.  That marble coffee table had been my mother's and it was placed near the piano.  Four-legged house guests were not allowed in that room. It was a safe zone, relatively pet hair free unless one of the family cats had claimed the upholstered love seat.

I've really never been calmer and busier in all my years of self-employment.  Calmer, because animals feed off of displaced panic ( a survival tactic).  Busier due to sheer quantity.  Their resident
companion animals outnumbered the fingers on one hand.  The added pack members rounded up the total to include all the fingers on the other hand.

My instructions were precise and written.  Basically, let the clients mix with the residents.  Allow them to nap and sit on any piece of furniture.  Plan for several times of fresh air in the fenced
yard. Meal times were in shifts and restricted to the gated breezeway and deck EXCEPT for family.
They could dine in the kitchen....around the center island (on the floor), in front of the pantry door (on the floor) and at the table.

Yup, you read that last part correctly.

Meal times, when people were home, were served at a kitchen table with a window seat. Three children, two adults, and one Puggle, named Mattie gathered in the cozy nook for breakfast and dinner.  On weekends, lunch rounded out the routine.  Mattie was solid black and unaware
she was a dog.  Her place was in between my niece, Sara and her younger brother, Kris, on the cushioned bench.

My shift was for only part of the day and when it was feeding time, Mattie would jump up, sit, and wait. I put her bowl on the floor.  She would wait.  I would monitor and shoo away the others who had cleaned their own dishes. She didn't move and looked at me like I had lost it.  How could I even begin to think she was one of them! Well, after an hour or so, she got hungry and jumped down, finding her food a little crusty. She ate with head hung so close to the ground that I began to feel remorse.

So I had a conversation with myself.  "Self, you are in charge.  Do what ALL your years of
experience suggest you do.  But, Mattie is not YOUR dog.  This is NOT your house. On the other
hand, you have to eat at that table."  Mattie continued to dine "a la dog".

The afternoon escaped my notice and soon clients began to arrive at the garage door for reunions.  It was an orderly procession; apparently, everyone knew each other and chit chat was congenial.  It was my job to reunite each with an owner. Batman and Fuji, a pair of Scottish Terriers, occupied both of my underarms and their owner, giggled and grabbed one, and seconds later, came back for the other one who had basically wriggled out from under. The duo of mother and daughter standard Poodles waited patiently with leashes in their mouths.  An unruly shepherd mix, ignored my "come" command and ran laps around and under the trampoline.  I apologized to the owner, who brushed past me, through the kitchen, over the baby gate, and into the back yard.  His "come" met with no objection.

I had no concerns as a substitute pet sitter-slash-relative. I lied and said everything ran smoothly. I gained great insight and learned valuable lessons in the realm of doggie daycare.  My sister in law looked around and said, "hmmm, looks like you vacuumed".  I never did tell her that all the dogs had been sequestered out of the kitchen.  I suspect she knew because of the mob greeting she received. My brother just winked silently and gave my ribs an enormous hug.

Mattie survived the embarrassment of being a dog and is the reigning senior family member (in dog years).  She just had knee replacement surgery at the age of 14 and her mistress must now carefully lift her up to her place at the table.

Family is ALWAYS the exception to the rule. I do not play favorites, but Mattie will always and forever be my very special four-legged niece.