Tuesday, May 28, 2019

The Cuteness Factor

     Can cuteness be a topic?  I have two answers...yes and definitely yes!  I try to write about antics or situations which highlighted my career. These two guys never got into any trouble. I didn't get
into any either when they were in my care.
     Cody and Cosby were a pair of mismatched terriers. Cosby was Cairn and Cody was a generic
blending of high energy and ear-splitting barks. Their favored outside entertainment included
hole digging and frog retrieval. Our back yard space was an eight-foot square slab of concrete bordered on two sides by sand and whatever grows in sand. An eight-foot fence defined the north end of the townhomes and separated a walking trail from the perimeter of a local special operations installation.
     Our walks didn't take us very far. Too far south and we'd intersect a four-lane highway.  Almost at our immediate west end was US Air Force property. I was not terribly familiar with the neighborhood. It seemed safe enough, street lights were plentiful and there was a large auto detail shop nearest to the main highway. We could walk on the trail during the day and venture across the lit parking lot to another townhome complex after sundown. No real route to any advertised trouble. It was comforting to see other walkers following similar pathways. At least I knew we weren't in the twilight zone.
     Walking with two dogs on retractable leashes could be comical at times. I really didn't have a lead dog which meant I didn't have a follower. The dogs wanted to be on their own scent trails. We would
begin the journey in a line and in an amoeba-like fashion, the leashes would extend their full length and I would suddenly be the blob in the middle. I didn't mind being central to what was going on to either side of me; remembering to adjust the leash to manual control kept the dogs within my field of vision and I never had to switch to my driving glasses.
     Every time we returned, Cosby knew it was time for sand burr inspection. He usually had a couple of them buried in between his pads. They're nasty and require skill in removing them and leaving the dog's hair on the dog. Cody never had any.
     One afternoon, we walked further up the trail along the Air Force perimeter fence and came upon
a group of bikers on a picnic of sorts.  Why they didn't seek out more appropriate accommodations upset me. They were loud, drunk and their bikes were stacked to prevent walking past the group.
I mean how many motorcycles can you stack side by side in a space of maybe fifteen feet wide? The answer was seven. One woman and two small dogs couldn't squeeze around them. We turned around, marched out of listening distance and I dialed the police.
   Another time along the trail, we met a fairly long black racer. I didn't know they slithered up trees!
This one did and after the dogs exhausted their efforts to climb up after it, we continued our
designated path. I admit I was breathless for a few minutes, but having lived in this state and having had relatives of his in my own back yard, I knew we were not in any danger.
     Their inside lives were very structured. Kennels kept them safe. Mealtimes were scheduled
at 0530 and 1830 hours. The "L" shaped couch invited group hugs and an occasional group nap.
As is with the majority of my clients, this little family served with our armed forces. Our time together was crammed short between orders and I knew my pals would be packing and shipping out.
     The cuteness factor remains with me in my retirement years. Sometimes memories are
made from the experiences in life, other times all it takes is a pair of wagging tails.
   

   

Monday, May 27, 2019

Visitor

     Sometimes my job came with bonuses. Caring for more than a single animal was always joy multiplied.  I love odd numbers, there's perfection in a trio or quintuplet that is missing in anything equally divisible by two. Even numbers are dry, odd numbers are whimsical and unbalanced.
     Having said this, you might think I adore the digit one.  I do not. So we'll begin with three and it's the number behind this story.
     The "D" dogs are favorites of mine. They belong to my friends, Diana and John. I've known five "D" dogs: Yellow Dog, J.D, Rusty, Wimberly, and Benji. Wimby and Ben are my companions now
and I'm hopeful the brood will grow.
     On a recent job, Diana introduced me to a phantom cat. She had a cardboard box shelter with straw and blankets on one side and food/water dishes on the other side of the front porch. There was now a cat food section in the pantry.  Emerson had come to live with them.
     John did not love Emerson. He definitely didn't want a feline in their home. Been there done that.
It didn't phase Diana. He could be their outside companion.
     Emerson was a member of the clipped ear society.  Feral and stray cats were captured, spayed or neutered and then released back into the neighborhoods.  I'm unsure who was in charge of capturing the cats, but since Diana had asked me for references for baited traps, I'd guess the effort was successful in great part to cooperative, well-meaning cat loving people all around the city and neighboring districts.
     The animal shelter in cooperation with the local chapter of the Dumb Friends League and other nonprofits corralled hundreds of stray cats in a calendar year.  The goal was to reduce the number of litters resulting from the hundreds of cats. Apparently, it was working. In this temperate coastal climate, stray cats and dogs live their best lives in nature. People interfere with well-meaning intentions. In our city, dogs make up a higher percentage of adoptions.; in part, it is due to the nature of a cat. Dogs can be happy as inside dwellers.
     Some cats just put their paws down and take each day as it comes. They develop a route and follow it sometimes to their last days and if the last person on the route up and moves away, their last days can mean dying alone.
     Emerson is a large cream color tabby. He isn't easily hidden between shrubbery and red cedar mulch. When he first appeared at her door, Diana decided to camouflage his water dish and food bowl behind the hedge so as not to invite criticisms from her non-cat loving neighbors. It worked for a while, but when the weather was uncooperative, the cat and dishes got the worst of it. She moved his dishes to the porch...which invited the non-cat loving dogs to bark and claw at the windowsill. Wimberly would run to the door in hopes of scaring Emerson away. Well, as long as the door was closed, Emerson stayed. This commotion was unsettling, to say the least, and John had enough.  The cat loved early morning visits.  John was accustomed to waking up AFTER the rooster crowed. He insisted that Diana move the dishes to the garage and leave enough space for Emerson to squeeze under the garage door and adapt the boxes, crates and usual garage stuff as his cat cave.
      This move worked well until the day John opened the kitchen door to go in the garage...one of the dogs followed and all hell ensued. Emerson left for vacation and now the dogs knew where
he was hiding.
      Months passed and no Emerson. Diana was worried. I was scheduled to come by for a long weekend and she left me a detailed list of Emerson's needs. Okay, I'm flexible.  I'd never met him and was looking forward to the introduction.  The problem was where to put the dogs when I went outside.
I'd have to go about it covertly.  So I grabbed the kitchen trash as if I was going to put it in the dumpster. Dogs thought nothing of it. They had me on ignore.
       I went through the kitchen door and inspected all the hiding spaces in the garage. No cat.  I opened the garage door and walked to the porch. No cat. I looked in the food bowl. No food. Emerson had come!  I texted Diana.  She was happy to hear the good news. For the next few days
I replenished his water and kibble. Some days there was no evidence he had come by. That's just the way it is.  To this day he remains the phantom cat. I guess that makes me the phantom cat sitter. With my job, anything is possible!

Sunday, May 26, 2019

A Little Bubbly

     It was May and the in-laws were coming for commencement. I had scheduled a family portrait for the afternoon before the ceremony.  We met the photographer at a local waterfront park and spent a couple of hours adjusting our posture, widening our smiles, smoothing out wrinkles and celebrating
the achievement of our high school graduate.
      In the getting to know the family chit chat in which all professional portrait photographers are
experts, I mentioned my pet sitting business. Who knew she would return the favor and hire me
before summer's end? As is my usual practice, an interview and tour of the home were scheduled
prior to the hire date. I met the photographer with baby in arms at the front door. Barking greeted
me through the patio screen door.
      A few minutes later, I was holding a very startled baby and she was trying to get the young dog's attention. Assuring her that I didn't mind the pup investigating me, she relaxed enough to apologize for his unruly behavior. In my opinion, he was not unruly. He was one hundred percent shepherd and his willingness to accept me as a nonthreat was crucial to my being hired. I won't ever take a job when the dog is on the defensive. If I can't trust the animal in the presence of the client, there's no chance for me to successfully care for it on my own.
     Conversation between us was dotted with baby talk. The interview went as smoothly as one could expect with the constant babble of the child and the repositioning of my hands and feet by the dog as he squeezed himself between his mistress and me.
      The breed is family-centric. Any outsider has to earn his trust. It didn't take too long for that trust to break the tension. An experienced pet sitter has a few tricks. Mine included treats in my pockets and lavender body spray. I always wore freshly washed scrubs when meeting new animals. Once
a bond developed, the smell of another animal was no longer a concern. Thank goodness! Sometimes I had several clients in a day. Truthfully, my pet scented clothes became an unorthodox calling card.
     This young dog was almost too big for his house. The floor plan was without much variation as far as townhomes go. I've worked for many a family who lives squeezed into tight quarters. There are tradeoffs of course when square footage is claimed by all the occupants. In this household,  the people and dog spilled out on to the back lawn and shared the abundance of sunshine and the sweet fragrance of a summer garden.
     A fifteen-month-old youngster needs inside toys and outside fun. The shepherd didn't understand territorial playthings. He was happily chewing on forbidden fringe haired dolls and Duplo building blocks and taking them to bury in a raised flower bed. The exception to a shared experience between child and dog was blowing bubbles. That game was reserved for the dog.
      On the few days of my job there, I was asked not to walk the dog. Bicycles were required as well as a six-mile route and the client felt that either I was unqualified or their homeowner's insurance would not favor a claim if one or both of us incurred an injury. So fun time was restricted to the back yard between the patio furniture and a treehouse without a tree.
      The single dip of the wand into the bottle was the silent signal for my companion to wait. Steady in a sitting posture, he would wait for the release of the glistening spheres. Some would burst, others would escape and rise into the warmth of an afternoon.  He jumped and tumbled with jaws snapping
at the floating balls. The wet surprises formed a trail of soapy foam from his mouth and he would
break from the game to dry his whiskers in the lawn.
     If the bottle tipped over and suds began to soak into his top layer of hair, it was time to
bring out the hose and give him a bath. That would lead to a game of tag and another of hide and seek as the very wet dog ran from room to room in an effort to air dry. Any attempt to capture and dry him
was fruitless, so I reserved the towel to wipe down the furniture and small puddles - now plentiful and dangerously spaced on the tile floor.
      That dog was visibly excited by bubbles. I don't know if he had any concept as to their
temporary enchantment. He just knew that chasing them was a connection to surprise and delight. It was the time when he was the focal point of attention.
     I'm guessing as the child grew up, the game became a time of bonding. What a lovely gift to give the family dog. In this family, there was no prejudice, no exclusion, no rules that separated child from
her best friend. I understand why dogs understand people. They're one of us.


   

Friday, May 24, 2019

The Tool Box

     A pet sitter's to do list would seem to be rather short, wouldn't it? You might expect feed and walk the dog and the additional chore of changing a cat's litter box. For the "in the tank" group, turn on the light and check the water temperature are essential details in the care of fish.
     What you may not realize is how carefully an experienced caregiver observes the animal's home. Patterns of the animal's life are evident in the details of the rooms it occupies. Sometimes, bedding
is laid out in deliberate layers to entice a nesting ritual.  Clippers, combs, and brushes are readily
available on the bathroom countertop. Pet shampoo bottles are set out right next to the people products in the master bathroom. Of course, the canisters and boxes of treats are always full and invite frequent inspection.
     Over the years, I have added a few tools that always traveled with me from home to home.  I found tweezers helpful in plying the sand burrs from tender paws and whiskers. Powders as remedies for skin irritations and hot spots on the bellies of long hair companions were packed in a small backpack. I carried blankets and a variety of collars and leashes.
     If the dog needed a manicure, a pumice stone worked well and it's a trick I've used for years on my own dogs. The buffing action is non-threatening and there is no motor which can set some breeds
on high alert.
     My toolbox also contained soothing music cd's which I would leave on for the in-between times before bedtime. Animals respond to music and in times when storms would roll in and out,
having a little white noise proved a useful anecdote.
     Rarely, did I have to take charge of an emergency, but I was fully prepared to do so. I wouldn't
take a job if the pet did not have routine veterinary care. Having lived with animals and
been the responsible party in the middle of the night visits to many an animal emergency clinic, my clients relied on my insight during the unexpected mishaps.
     A pet sitter may or may not have undergone certification to become a member of any professional
organization.  Many qualified animal companion care providers have obtained licensing through local
municipalities. Some, like me, have a combination - required paperwork, a lifetime of pet ownership and a toolbox filled with a few handy gadgets and a whole lot of love.

Tuesday, May 21, 2019

Please...Don't Hang Up

     My success as a self-employed person relied on my reputation and availability.  Jumbling my schedule was second nature. I always found myself in the company of pet owners whether I was working at school or out in the community.  Animal lovers seek out people of the same compassionate nature. Relationships were built on shared experiences. It was interesting to me
to find other like-minded people who opened their wallets and pulled out photos of their pets and not their children! If their galleries were digital, scrolling and swiping across the screen was always highlighted with animated conversations.
     One of my colleagues was the owner of four very large cats.  It's been too long for me to recall the cat' names, but they rhymed.  The felines were not siblings and each had territorial places within the two bedroom house. One preferred under the master bed, another the kitchen counter, a third wanted nothing to do with anywhere other than the three cushion sofa and the fourth one claimed the entire Florida screened porch.
     Food bowls were lined up in a specific order and the cats knew which ones were theirs. Their diet was exactly the same, but I couldn't coax one to another's spot. So every day, I would follow a predestined pathway around the kitchen and respectfully place a bowl of kibble between
bar stools,  walk a few feet and place another in front of the refrigerator, the next one in the northwest corner of the kitchen floor and the fourth one under the piano bench.
     The litter box was shared and for good reason.  It was a Tupperware storage box, a very large one.
If you can imagine pouring a dozen or more buckets of sandy litter into one container, you'd be
close to understanding how generous this litter box was.  Its location was in the center of the
Florida room - which was really the designated cat's playroom. Truthfully, in this house, every room belonged to the cats...
     I couldn't stand it. So on one of the morning visits, I cleaned the house; which confused the cats.
I felt better and during that afternoon's visit, I stayed to watch a favorite television program.
The phone rang. I didn't answer - it was a rule of mine. Clients do not wish to advertise their absences
and almost always have an answering machine which they check on from where ever they are.
     A familiar voice began a dialogue with the cats "Hello, this is mommy. And daddy...how are you all doing? We miss you. Today we are in ......... and are telling everyone about our babies."
The cats came from all directions and lined up on the kitchen counter to wait their turn to talk.
Each began to mew and wait for a response. I'd never seen anything like it! Once the owners had finished talking with one, it would jump down and resume it's activity. Never once did my clients inquire about me. I looked forward to more eavesdropping on subsequent visits. I wondered if the cats were keeping their owners informed about the sitter.
     I've known dog people and cat people. I've written about those with aquariums and cages with perches. I understand relationships and the underlying reasons an animal companion makes a house a home. This family was exceptionally close. The daily conversations were just another example of how animals complete our daily existence; how they fill voids and balance the stressors in our busy lives.
     The language of love is truly universal, even at the other end of a telephone call.
   

Sunday, April 21, 2019

Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

     Nutmeg and Ginger were the pair of companions to a single married woman who lived her life
apart from her better half as he was a rock star musician with heavy global commitments. She was
civil service and connected to the special operations command of the nearby USAF base.
     I don't remember the breeds except the coat colors of each made remembering their names easy.
The ruddy one was Nutmeg. The blond (by default) was Ginger.  Neither one was large as all three of us could walk through the back door in a horizontal line.
     The pups were loving to strangers and glad to have their usual routine altered to include outdoor times in between their very long ten hour days.
     The parcel of land was generous, the house cozy.  The homeowner had inspired a lavish garden which combined perennials, annuals, and vegetables. The blooms climbed up and over trellises.
The leaves and ivy's cascaded over fence tops and gates. Fairy lights twinkled after dark and
seemed to reflect the vastness of the starred canopy at late night.  This outdoor space was indeed magical and I was glad to be able to spend the evenings outside with the dogs.
     Some people keep memories in scrapbooks or in picture frames. Others tuck them deep in their hearts.  This woman kept the cremated ashes of all her previous companions in highly decorative urns on her chest of drawers. In my hazy memory, these many years later, there were six in her collection.
Each pet's name was engraved and photos were included somewhere on the containers. For her, their presence was comforting.
     The dogs retired each evening on top of her bed. She had added doggie steps in recent months to
allow the older one to scramble up and join her in the canopied four poster bed. I would find them there again in the early morning.
     We enjoyed daily afternoon walks. Sometimes we would join the parade of other dogs and their people. No traffic to worry us as we were the last street in the neighborhood. Seems the sound of the mail man signaled it was time to go. I don't know the reason why that particular activity stirred their
curiosity. Maybe the postal worker was the nearest thing to a doggie ice cream truck. I spotted
a crowd of wagging tails as the truck stopped and reversed back up the road.
     Our night time visits were extended. We settled in the lawn chairs (me on one and Nutmeg and Ginger on the other). As if on cue, the seven o'clock hour ushered in the spectacle of hundreds of fireflies. The coolness was welcome and blanketed us in a refreshing layer between stars and the
softness of the lap quilts. Dogs do what they do and flittering bugs beg to be chased. Scampering
around and through the sculpted hedges and darting one behind the other, the game ended in a tie
and guaranteed a rematch the following evening.
    Being a pet sitter allows glimpses into other realities.  Short term and long term jobs
were always a happy accident. I never knew what my schedule would be other than predictably busier during the holidays.  Ginger, Nutmeg and I spent a single summer together. Life goes on and we never had the opportunity to reconnect. And when the stars come out these many years later and the lightening bugs buzz about my head, I remember lazy summer nights with a couple of sweet old dogs.

Tuesday, March 5, 2019

Learning Curve

     Scout and King were a pair of German shepherds who were still maturing when we met.  I'd guess they were about a year and one-half old.  I had met and worked with a third shepherd in this family,
but he passed on during the couple of years I was employed with them.
     Shepherds are strongly opinionated and when they keep secrets from the pet sitter, all heck can break loose.  These pups were mischief with a capital M! There would be evidence of SOME BODY'S bad habits, but I couldn't discover who to blame.  Of course, the antics would occur during the times I was NOT there.
     Clean up was constant and because they were gated in the kitchen overnight, any mess would belong equally to both dogs. They took reprimands in stride and were proud that I had stopped to notice their efforts.  Mostly outside habits greeted my arrival. Not that I was delayed in my morning schedule, they just decided to un-train themselves in my absence.
     They loved to get into the kitchen cabinetry and upend the silverware drawer. Perhaps they liked the sound of cascading spoons onto the tile floor.
      Equally entertaining, apparently, was the bottom drawer of dish towels.  The game of tug of war kept them busy sometime in the dead of night.
      After multiple text messages to the homeowners, it was suggested that I buy a camera, have it installed and report back.  Six weeks was a huge chunk of time to trust the care of their dogs to a virtual stranger.  I wasn't exactly a stranger, but not living on the property, gave me a decided disadvantage.
      I had the equipment set up, learned to access the video through their home computer and spent the several weeks watching the best YouTube ever!
     Of course, there was the alpha male and after just one video clip, I deduced it was Scout. He was just bored, could get out of his kennel, tug the toggle on King's kennel and busy himself with a follow the leader - let's get into trouble - game that lasted ALL NIGHT LONG.
     How they avoided the relatively no brainer escape over the baby gate, I'll never know. I mean, if I could straddle it and I'm only five ft. four in. -  a fifty-pound dog could easily hurdle it, but they stayed in the kitchen. It was nearer to whatever smelled so good behind the closed refrigerator door.
      Once a daughter joined the family, Scout decided her baby things were his baby things. His owners were much too trusting. They would leave baby rattles and pacifiers on the kitchen counter.
They would leave the diaper genie on the floor in a bathroom and pack up the car, leaving the tempting contents readily available.  I know parents of a newborn are never in their right mind, and this couple hadn't even accomplished puppy training or perhaps they THOUGHT they had.
     "My" two handsome dogs, had the upper paw. I knew it and I gave in. I am a quick study and realized that I'd never win an argument let alone succeed with basic training.  Even if I had,
there was no guarantee that the owners would have followed through.
      On our walks, I know ONE of us got more exercise than the other two. I developed matching biceps over the six-week job. We seemed to attract more than our share of attention and the additional
well-meaning compliments caused interruption to our routine.  It never failed that within five minutes of our leaving the house, someone would come out just to say hello.  That greeting caused the dogs to forget any sense of order and they would wiggle over to the person. I would have to wiggle over as well. Can you imagine three jello cubes sliding down a cookie sheet? Well, that would be us. King would start over and his leash would demand I follow him which in turn pulled Scout to a new direction. Once the greeting committee retreated, we would reassemble and begin again. A thirty-minute walk became fifty minutes of stop and go. I tried to be gracious, "parking" the pair
every few minutes to chat with a total stranger. I began to keep my business cards in a pocket for a
quick retreat. I didn't work. That maneuver extended the conversation. The delay made the dogs anxious and they would head back to the middle of the street, pulling me between them as I added a hasty, "I'll be speaking with youSOOOOOooooon," with my voice trailing behind me.
      Depending on the time of the afternoon, we would pass a corner lot with an invisible fence and a very visible and audible small white terrier. She would yap, yap and taunt the boys, running the perimeter of her yard.  We got even just once. We stood at the "fence line" and barked back.  I had a few choice words to add.  She backed up and shaking her head retreated to the safety of the front porch.
     She had a full day to consider her attitude and the very next day, as we rounded the corner, she just sat on the porch and let us pass. I don't know what the dogs told her the previous day, but I praised them, "good boys", patted their heads and we kept to our path.
     Throughout my time caring for King and Scout,  nothing changed, the pranks and attention seeking activities continued. As the baby grew from pacifiers into teething rings,  I noticed an increase in dog toys. Jealousy is common in a home with babies and pets. It can be comical, it can cause concern.  Thankfully, I was never tasked with babysitting for this family. I belonged to the dogs.
      The month and one half I spent with them taught me immeasurable patience. Patience is the foundation of empathy which is the basis for compassion - and it's all good when shared with
two rambunctious German shepherds.
   
   

Friday, March 1, 2019

Yours and Mine

 There have been three exceptions to my pet sitting AT YOUR HOME rule. Over the ears and because of the relationships I had with the pet owners, their dogs stayed with me and my dogs and my cats and my children...
     Ellie Mae was a Bichon Frise, owned by a co-worker.  I don't remember the circumstances other than my friend had NEVER had a pet sitter and didn't feel comfortable with scheduled daily visits. I can not recall how many dogs I had at the time, but there were no issues. The meet and greet of the woman and Ellie Mae went smoothly. My dogs are always expecting the pack to grow, so introducing just one relatively well behaved dog to them didn't cause any aggressive behavior or feelings of jealousy.
     My reputation for not putting up with ANYTHING preceded me as I was a secretary in a middle school Attendance office. My job was to interview the students needing to go to the principal's office.  While they squirmed at my desk, I typed the discipline referrals or suspension letters which would be hand delivered to parents or guardians that same day. I had a wonderful pair of eyeglasses, which when slid halfway down my nose, gave me the appearance of The Terminator. Kids just didn't like me.
      Dogs, on the other hand, loved me and took it for granted that when the glasses slid, they needed to correct whatever behavior had preceded my glare.  Once in a while, that glare would be accompanied by my outside voice.  Enough said.
      In my house and I'm fairly certain that in yours, there are designated rooms for meal time.  The kitchen is not always the best place to feed a pack. When you have dogs that gulp their food and dogs that do not, you are inviting turf wars. I was always well aware of my dog's personalities, their eating habits, and territories. When having a guest animal in, I would always default feeding them in a bathroom behind a closed door, with me in it. My dogs would eat when the guest was fed and outside in the yard.
      Phoenix, a black and white coated spaniel, came to stay just once. The owners were having remodeling done while they vacationed.  Their cat stayed home and I traveled to visit her daily.
She was pent up in the master suite and unhappy, I'm guessing by the frantic mews which greeted
my arrivals.
     The dog was typical spaniel, needing huge chunks of time and exercise which I could not
accommodate. There was no way I would take her walking and bring the herd as well. So, no one went walking. This interruption to her routine gave her an excuse to teach my dogs how to jump over the sofa in route to see who was passing the house on the sidewalk. She could hurdle the chunky piece of furniture without a second thought about it.  My dogs, on the other hand, completed the maneuver in stages, especially the cairns.  Funny, it was always a one way kind of game. Never did I observe any of them reverse the effort, clearing the back first and land squarely on either of the seat cushions!
     Phoenix wanted to sleep with me. I think she did a couple of nights as evidenced by the flattened warm spaniel sized divots in the bedding. She never did thank me.
     Dallas who is a Yorkie-Poo began having sleepovers a couple of years ago. I used to sleep over at her house, but driving half hour in morning congestion to get back to my house to care for everyone here became a headache. So, I asked her owner if she could stay here. It has worked out well and as she is quite senior, my husband's honey-do list is getting shorter as he has installed motion detecting flood lamps in the yard for her low vision challenges. He also clears the lawn of debris, especially the pine cones which are quite painful to old dog paws.
     She sleeps on our king size bed, always at the precarious far edge, which causes both of us to sleep with one eye opened. Dallas assumes she can jump down on her own. The last time she did that at her house, she had a back leg fracture and shortly after that mishap, she was back here for a week. Her splint had to be waterproofed before she could use the yard.  It's wonderful that our newspaper's plastic sleeve was just Dallas splint size. All I needed to do was to trim the length so that it would cover foot to hip joint, tie with a pretty pink ribbon and she was good to explore the wet grass at first light.
     I have her in my care frequently, sometimes just for a playdate when her owner has exceedingly long days at work. I think her mental health benefits, having a change of scenery and plenty of playmates to keep her active. As a matter of fact, she's here now, on guard duty at my front glass storm door. Her companions are napping, scattered about on chairs, rugs, and under my makeshift card table work station.
      I am thankful that my dogs have the generosity of heart. There is definitely a lesson to be learned
from observing how they treat every guest with respect. There's no discrimination. Everyone is equal. Maybe if people were just more like their dogs.....
 



Wednesday, February 27, 2019

Seeing Double

This is a personal story. The animals are mine. The memories are mine.
The process of getting through it is a personal journey - grief. Some would rather not experience the devastation and near-death of their soul through the loss of a loved one. Some are afraid and some, like me, understand the need to go there, where it's agonizing to awaken each day realizing we really are alone. Or are we?

Notice that I have chosen "alone" rather than "lonely", for my experience during the grieving process is that I am alone with my memories. I am alone with my loss, it's not possible to have a shared experience because the relationship was exclusive; one on one, me with her and me with him. For me, the process repeats every year when one of my pets dies. I didn't plan for them to all pass within such a short window of time. I was not prepared to begin the final countdown so frequently. .preparation for the death of a companion is as much a part of the grieving as the physical final breath. Whether assisted or natural, the loss is permanent.

Loss consumes me; my five senses atrophy and my memories do not provide sustenance. I am not the same woman, I am less. I exist as a lesser being for part of me vanished when he or she died. Eventually, I believe that I will cease to exist. I won't recognize my reflection. It is a frightening eventuality.

It happened again, just months ago and it is most likely an approaching reality before the year ends.  So the total losses this year will be two. One year it was four. I didn't think I could recover. I'm no better at getting through now even though there have been a dozen dress rehearsals in recent years.

There is something strong and resilient within me and I am grateful. I do not choose to seek out this refuge from the storm. I can't share it. I cannot explain why it happens, but I can share that it sustains and nourishes my soul - constantly. I open my heart. I ask for possibilities and expect "yes" from the universal voices. Yesterday, "yes" came twice. "Yes" came as a pair. I am bringing two home from the animal shelter.

I didn't know I was going to that place; wasn't on my schedule. Following a morning Tai Chi class, we were going to junk around town.  My neighbor and I had been attending a three day per week course through the continuing education division of the state college. I always drove as she preferred it and she always bought lunch as I preferred it.  We've recently reconnected, strange really, because she lives right next door. We see each other every day, but my life has been void of social entanglements for man years in favor of raising two kids and community volunteer opportunities. I'm just not that into neighborhood gossip and we don't have many shared interests. Maybe that will change, it's up to me.

The animal shelter wasn't EXACTLY on the way home, but she's also a pet owner and I just chanced the opportunity to do something nice for someone. Thought I would leave a donation or maybe give a couple of the dogs a well-deserved bath.

That's how it started with Sam, my companion of seventeen years. Sam is gone now and I'm down to two. Unrelated - one with bone cancer and allergic to everything that blooms here. The other is aging gracefully with a temperament matching her breed description. Both were rescues. At the time they joined the herd, there were probably three or four other dogs and a couple of cats already comfortable and very much in charge of my house.

We arrived at the shelter and my neighbor didn't want to go in. Her option was to wait in the car and I said I would be awhile. She followed me through the door marked "adoptions", and down the hall to the kennels. Pretty soon, she was way ahead of me, on the way back down the aisle ready to go.  "I want to visit with this one," I said. She sighed. We went back through the main building and I signed in with my name and name of the canine inmates. You may feel that description harsh, but what else would you call a life in a cage. Within minutes we were in a small room with a single curtained window concrete floors, a locked cabinet, and three orange plastic chairs with chrome legs. On top the cabinet was a jar of varied doggie treats and a basket of squeaky toys was on the floor opposite the row of chairs.

In came the inmate, a young female Labrador. She was bouncy and bounded repeatedly high enough to clear the top of the door. Not a good match. I didn't want to visit any other and we got ready to leave and then...

I noticed a bulletin board with photos and "captured or surrendered" dates on them; all of lap size breeds. I looked behind me to discover a room with rows on top of rows of cages. The diminutive inmates noticed me noticing them and began conversations all at once.  The iron swing gate at the door of this room was guarded by a much larger pit bull named "Ranger." He was not ready for adoption yet as he was recovering from heartworm. He was on the urgent list.

I picked two, stranded my friend in the hallway and went to inquire about them. Dachshunds and most likely siblings as they were strays brought in by animal control. The date of capture was two weeks earlier. Maybe they weren't available. My heart sank. I asked anyway.  My friend was right where I had abandoned her.  Taking her by an elbow, I led her into that same room with three orange plastic chairs and we sat. She
didn't utter a syllable.  

I knew we would be waiting a couple of minutes because a quick criminal background check was in progress. If I wanted to adopt one, additional screening would follow. They will not adopt out any animal to a person who has relinquished one and their records go back to 1957.

In came one. "Yes." In came the other. It was another "yes". 
Barbara and I each held them. I trusted her opinion. The senior adoption counselor came in and asked if I wanted to visit with any other.  I had made up my mind and with my friend's blessing, and most probably an accompanying sign of the cross, I knew the next step would be having my husband meet them.

I didn't want to leave because it was possible someone else could come in and adopt them during the time I drove home, delivered my neighbor safely to her front door, run in to get my husband (who had to change out of his at home wardrobe) and return. There were many more details including apologizing to my two senior dogs that they had to get into the car and meet the dachshund pair. 

The ending of this tale is written in the voice of my Weimaraner, Abbey in "Through the Eyes of Love" in A Kiss on the Nose and yes, it has a happy ending. . .




In and Out

     Heading to the home of a new client is always exciting.  I play out all the possible scenarios in my head while driving.  This time I had been told, "...and the Chihuahua does NOT stay outside". Okay,
I wondered why not? Was there a Chihuahua-sized hole in the fence?  Birds of prey? Did it have an allergy to grass? Had an alligator been reported? Of course, I had not proposed the list of burning questions during the phone interview. Thought it best to leave my curiosity in the car.
     Nice home, high-end furnishings. Three dogs - two terriers and the Chihuahua - the very smallest variety Chihuahua. The Terriers were male. The one with glitter nail polish, a Swarovski crystal collar and a bow in her hair would be the girl. The client was equally decked out at the interview.  Who wears heels in the house? That would be the Mrs.
     A screened porch with doggie door extended beyond the main room. There were about a half dozen steps down to the neatly manicured lawn where an old plastic swimming pool kept company with an equally old sago palm. Two ratty looking terriers greeted me; one with a neon pink tennis ball. I stooped to initiate play and the other one retreated back into the covered porch. Open feeding
dog dishes and a few aluminum water bowls were neatly arranged on one side. Opposite from them were dog beds and blankets, which in my opinion would be the first items to the washer.
     Back inside the interview continued until she said: "Oh, and my son will be here."  "Son?"
Yes, he's thirteen and I decided that he needs to stay in school. So, he won't be traveling with me," she said in a firm tone which was his cue to enter the room. "Oh great," I thought, now I am a baby sitter to a teenage boy. This should go over well."
    What did she need with a dog sitter? So, I inquired. The reply was that he was not good with dogs.  He would take care of himself. I didn't need to do anything. The man-child returned to the shadows and the interview progressed until I was given the security code. "And, by the way, the Chihuahua has a weekly grooming appointment. Here is the address and I will reimburse, so make sure you leave me a detailed invoice," were her last words and she escorted me to the front door with her precious little one in her arms.
    I was muttering, "I am definitely going to have to raise my rates." I headed back to my life and ticked off the calendar days until my new job. This daily schedule would take more effort than most as my time with the dogs would be divided into a few categories. Feeding - hers and theirs; playtime - hers and theirs. Walks - hers. Grooming - hers. Oh, and did I mention medications? Well - theirs.
I didn't find the routine too difficult. I've VERY detail oriented so I organized everything into a visual
accounting: using columns and hash marks every time I accomplished one of the scheduled activities.
     It came time for little miss's grooming and I drove her there where I was greeted by name and told to come back in two hours?  What?  How much time could a four pound practically hairless dog
need? Apparently, I'm no expert. She'd had this schedule for quite a while. I left, went about my day and reappeared at the salon at the suggested time. There she was, new nail polish color and coordinating bow. The rest of her looked exactly the same as when I dropped her off.
    The next day was Saturday and I didn't know what to expect. Was the boy home? Did he have friends over?  I put on my "Mom" hat, just in case. Walking in and calling her name expecting she would trot out from the master bedroom, I headed out to the screened room to greet the boys. They were eager for some attention and scooted out to the yard. I followed them, but sat on the stairs
and watched them in a game of tag and tumble. Happy and hungry, they bolted right past me and plunged their muzzles halfway down into the overflowing dog dishes.
     Returning back into the main room, the little dog was nowhere; not at the placemat on the kitchen floor, not on the leather sofa, not snuggled down into the embroidered duvet cover. I went upstairs.
That was not an easy accomplishment. The homeowner had replaced the stair runner with travertine tiles and they were slippery underneath my somewhat moist tennis shoe soles.
     Knocking on the child's door, I heard nothing. I opened it. There they were both not looking forward to getting out of bed. The dog jumped down, the boy mumbled and rolled over. I closed the door and carried her downstairs to breakfast. She wanted to go to the back yard and not seeing the harm in it, I accompanied her through the sliding glass door and stayed outside with all three of them.
     Letting her back in, I noticed muddy paws and knew I would have to give her a bath. But where?
Surely not in a bathtub. Surely not in the sink. Well, maybe in the dishpan IN the sink and that's what happened. It took me all of one minute to clean her paws. It took her all of thirty seconds to dry.
When I say that she could swim in the dishpan, I'm not exaggerating!
     We went on our morning walk. I felt silly following a hamster-sized dog up the street, but because I was paid to do it, I did.
      My employment with them lasted until the Misses inquired if I could schedule my time as her dog's chauffeur. I said yes and priced the transportation around forty dollars per day. She declined.
I don't appreciate pedigree. I don't think it should matter. Every soul deserves respect and that's the in and out of it!



Monday, February 25, 2019

When the Heart Speaks

     I had a client with multiple four-legged companions which was not unusual in and of itself. One of her dogs had extrasensory perception when it came to her housemates and one very special friend.
       I seem to remember names as I can visualize the personalized food bowls which would be
placed specifically about the kitchen floor at meal times. Mya, Jack, and Gizmo were the names given their dogs and Harley and Annabelle were the cats.
     Not that all five animals weren't remarkable but this tale is dedicated to Mya.
     She was black, big boned, stubborn, long-haired with eyes that pierced the air and the soul. I thought at first introduction, that she might be a wolf hybrid. I don't remember if I asked about it. She really didn't look like a wolf to me but her body language told a different story. She was constantly on the prowl with her head down. Her owner did tell me that when she was on the scent, I might as well just follow as best I could.  If I couldn't keep the pace, it would be all right. She always stayed within an earshot! Didn't sit much. Didn't obey much. It wasn't that the other animals avoided her, she just was a loner among the pack.
     Walking all three became a challenge and I elicited the help of my daughter to join me at the house after dinner.  Managing Mya took considerable effort and her breakaway collar caused panic a couple of times. Thankfully, she didn't go far.  In the beginning, it was a matter of trust. It was a matter of listening to her; not woman to dog, but spirit to spirit.  I would give my daughter two to keep her balanced, one on each side.  Jack had a "gentle leader" harness and the little one was rather well behaved. I would walk with Mya.
     They lived in an older part of the city and you could tell that the land had been parceled off
acre by acre from farmers and ranchers. There were no city blocks, hardly any sidewalks or street lights on the far east side of the neighborhood. Farmhouses with rickety wooden roofs and falling down porches were dimly lit by a few low wattage light bulbs.  Brand new brick homes with cramped yards and single car garages were squeezed onto narrow parcels, just wide enough to drive one way, park in some one's driveway, reverse and head out again.
     A private equestrian training facility and pasture greeted us at the end of civilization. Our walks generally followed the same route. Mya didn't like cul de sacs or for that matter, any enclosed outdoor space. She preferred to walk on the grass, and didn't like concrete or asphalt. If another dog was out, I would have to straddle over her and hold her collar.  She would become tense which would set off the other two.
    Mya was a horse whisperer. It happened quite unexpectedly on our first walk. When we had passed the last house and approached the ditch separating the pasture from the dirt road, she sat; her choice, not mine. The remaining two ignored her and continued on their walk. Thankfully on that night's outing, having two handlers for three dogs made it possible to separate the group. It was simply a matter of a majority vote.
     Not knowing what she was looking at (could have been a snake), I stopped walking and tried to
match the direction of my gaze to her intent stare. In less than a minute, an old swaybacked brown horse appeared from the horizon and at a slow gate, came to the three rail fence and stood. Mya lowered herself as if to honor him. The horse, in reply, nodded and gave a solitary paw to the ground as if he was tapping a response. His eyes were cloudy but his mane had been recently brushed and his hooves were neatly trimmed. He was enjoying his retirement in the "Sunshine State."
     I didn't move. Mya didn't move. My daughter had rejoined us and was excited to see the horse but couldn't stay to witness this ritual between friends. I reached in my pocket and passed the house key to her and whispered I would return soon. Being that she had been my helper for a few years, she turned and started for the house and I knew I would find the other dogs comfortable on the sofa when Mya and I got back.
     So we remained in the gentle slope of the ditch and the minutes passed between daylight and dusk. The horse backed up from the fence and turning his head towards the horizon, walked away until he was again part of the original landscape.
     Mya turned and looked at me. I patted her head and gave the command "Let's go". We continued to the end of the road and turning around, we were met by a man who had just passed through the main gate of the training center. He said, "Ain't it grand that God gave animals such wonderful friends? And I ain't talking about humans. I've watched that horse of mine converse with many a dog, but his favorite is Mya. That dog's got a bigger heart than most people I know. That horse has been through tough times. Don't know how long he'll be with me. But until he goes, I hope that Mya will continue to visit him. It's kinda like a horse version of an old folks home", he chuckled, but there was a catch in his throat.
     "I promise she'll be here when I am in charge," I said as I blinked the moist release of a solitary tear.

Sunday, February 24, 2019

Clean up on aisle 7 and...

     I think I know what to expect when I have been employed by a family over the course of years.  There will always be exceptions, of course...
     Broadie was a beast of a German shepherd. Not in the disposition category but the size one.
He must have tipped the scale at well over one hundred pounds, even though the breed standard states eighty-eight is a maximum healthy weight for males.  He was healthy and had the thickest coat of any I've ever seen.
   For many years, he was the only dog in the family and was well mannered and highly trained as
a guard dog.  If you did not know his commands, you did not approach him. This was lesson number one on my first day. Having that knowledge was intimidating as his safety and my safety would have to coexist whenever we were out of the house.
    His playtime was usually a game of ball.  He simultaneously played the positions of batter, umpire, and center fielder. I would throw it, he would catch it, run the bases, return to the pitcher's mound, drop the ball behind me and sprint back to home plate. He could play for hours.  I could toss it for thirty minutes and then my shoulder would be talking to me.
    His cooling off exercise would be a walk. We'd tour his block and then cross the driveway of a local restaurant and explore the other neighborhood. He stayed right with me, stopping before we crossed a street and lying down if a stranger approached. This maneuver gave me time to
warn them that he was not to be petted. Considering his size, most people took the warning as just plain common sense.  Children were less understanding and I would have to command him to sit and once I introduced the child to the dog, it was all wiggles and happiness.
     On this particular job, I entered the home like I always did, though the front door and greeted him
heading into the kitchen to drop off my folder and found the biggest pool of vomit I've ever
seen. It was a mini lake, red and smelled of tomatoes.  I called the owner.  The owner said, "Oh yeah,
Broadie asked for leftovers - sorry!" "What exactly did you give him?", I countered. "Spaghetti", he said in a very nonchalant tone. "Do you want me to take him to the E.R?", I replied as I was putting his collar on him at the same time I was looking in the folder for veterinary contact info. "Nope, he
does this once and a while.  You know where the cleaning supplies are, right?"
      Yes, I knew where they were supposed to be and went there and found NO CLEANING SUPPLIES. I put the dog in the back yard and dispersed a layer of paper towels down to begin to absorb the liquid part of the mess.  I looked for another roll of paper towels.  Couldn't find one.  I needed more paper towels and I was not going to leave him, get back in my car and head to the store.
     So, I walked across the street and introduced myself and the ensuing drama to a neighbor.  She had paper towels and spray cleaners and mop and bucket. Most importantly of all, she knew Broadie and
came back to the house, leashed him and took him to her home for a visit.
     I was maybe twenty minutes cleaning and after that mess was a memory, returned to the neighbor, claimed "my" dog, went inside to open the windows and took him to the main room where we watched a little television.  No walk that visit.  I wasn't sure he wouldn't go after grass to ease his stomach cramps and vomit that as well.
     He was hungry later that day, and I gave him his USUAL food. I stayed late.  I returned early.
Nothing else happened. A couple of days later, I returned to that neighbor's house to give her a small bouquet and to thank her again.
     It wasn't very long after that fateful day, that he died.  'Twisted stomach" was the finding of the necropsy.  It is a common health threat to his breed. I didn't know.
     It is not my place to educate a pet owner.  I just fill in and do my very best, knowing that
while in my care, the animal companion was family. . . and I'd do ANYTHING for family.


Monday, February 4, 2019

Size Matters

I want you to understand that when bringing a dog into your home as a permanent companion, you must consider more than what books publish veterinarians advise and shelters hope for.

Let's look closer at the bonding experiences you will encounter. . .

What goes in comes out. Visualize a potter's wheel and the lump of unformed clay. The clay represents what is being served in that favorite doggie's bowl. Now imagine reshaping that lump appropriately into pieces. So size matters.

When purchasing furniture to accommodate your exact measurements,  lumbar support, color scheme and durability, consider the probability that your companion will claim it as his own. You may scoff at my insistence, but I have decades of experience on this subject. If your animal sheds, you're going to have a longer list. Don't be fooled into thinking a big dog can't possibly fit into Grandma's petite antique rocking chair. I have a ninety four pound weimaraner who will easily disprove your theory. Beds a re a challenge for smaller breeds to navigate, but that's why doggie steps were invented.
If you have a man cave with generous size furnishings, you're going to be amazed how adaptable the fine leather sofa is to the dog. Leather, being a little slippery, will allow the paws to dangle just below the seam line. Again, size matters.

Now this is going to be a little personal, but consider it you must. If you are prone to immodesty in your bathroom, I caution you that dogs which stand thirty inches or taller will want to keep you company in there. While the shorter ones (the dachshund comes to mind) may sniff from knees on down, those on the other end of the spectrum will send you shrieking to find your bathrobe. Do you begin to sense a recurring there here?

The up close and personal does not stop with you. Be assured that anyone entering your space will receive the same generous greeting. Girl dogs are not more polite than their male counterparts.

Really big dogs like danes, wolfhounds and mastiffs will counter surf because they can. This talent is not limited to the long legged. . .if you keep chairs around the kitchen island, the little ones (not to be outdone) will manage to jump once for better viewing and then again, once they have targeted their prize, will jump to that final height and not until their curiosity has been sated will they consider the consequences of returning to the floor. Louver doors are no match for those who have a playful nature. Cabinets are not safe either. Laundry baskets, diaper pails and on the floor vegetable bins are irresistible.

Okay, you say, what about obedience training.  I respond "Good luck with that." Read the small print on that adoption agreement. Does it say "genetically bred to enhance your life without the mess"? And anyway, the smells and aromas in those commercial spaces or outdoor arenas where training ensues are vastly different from your personal home environment. Dogs have evolved from the wolf. The wolf hunts, it survives on its ability to smell, identify and conquer. What makes you think your piece of paper (framed and hung on that prominent wall in your home ) guarantees otherwise.

The examples are endless, really; even as far as accessorizing your car, moped, Spyder or bicycle basket. Size matters, personal space (inside and out) matters; yours and theirs. It's a challenge to share what was once yours and yours alone with a pair of twinkling eyes, a wet nose attached to four legs, and a tail. A dog changes everything. Be wise in listening to your heart or do what I do and get one in every size because the only thing where size does not matter is the heartfelt love between you. There is truly no measuring that.

celebrations

I am just going to put it out there. People are not dogs. Dogs are not people and having shared my life with mine and yours, I realize they are just smarter. Which puts us a little further down on the
food chain.

I must intercede for the feline.  People are not cats. Cats are not people and having shared my life with nine and yours, I realize they are just smarter. Not as smart as the dogs, but none the less, their ranking puts us a little further down on the food chain. 

Take for example our obsession for celebrations.  We have w a a a y too many and add to that the cultural diversity of the human being, the number of excuses to memorialize, pay tribute to, honor, etc. becomes a google digit.

Being a semi-retired pet sitter, I often wonder what the animals think. In this section, I offer
what I believe they must sense about us as a species.  

Chapter 1 - A Dog's Thanksgiving
Chapter II - A Cat's Birthday party
Chapter III - The Family Dog's 1st Christmas
Chapter IV - Halloween and the Grumpy Cat
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

A Dog's Thanksgiving

     Dogs celebrate Thanksgiving every single day. They are thankful for the sunrise because that means meal time is coming. They are thankful for mealtime because that leads to time outdoors. And who would not be thankful for time with nature? The excitement of activity, the anticipation of weather, and the movement of blades of grass or leaves falling to attract their attention give cause to celebrate. They are thankful for the occasional walk because the blend of free sniff samples tells them about their neighborhood. They are thankful to come inside again and feel permanence and a sense of belonging. They are thankful for interactions with other animal companions and family throughout their day. If they have been with themselves to wait until people come home, they are thankful for the reunion. They are thankful for a touch and a personal greeting that could not be mistaken for any human member. They are thankful for the freedom to follow in and out of every room in their home. They are thankful for sunset because that means that they will be settling into the evening routine with the promise of tomorrow's sunrise.
     Thanksgiving Day will come again next year. The stress of the day will be upon us in another 364 days. We will practice our hospitality (teaching children table manners), grocery shop in duress ( and if it's last minute, have to apologize for the pull-apart rolls because there had been a run on crescents), clean house with a grumble (lay out the display towels), and exchange smiles and hugs with family and friends who will take up the majority of our day off.
     Some of us will be truly thankful. Some of us need the excuse of the holiday to think outside of ourselves and celebrate. I would rather believe that I'm more like my dog. . .


A Cat's Birthday Party

     "Oh boy, look at the new toys!" said the family cat as she stretched her four legs from underneath the warmth of a morning nap. The unraveled spool of grosgrain ribbon was enticingly close and not an immediate concern of the person in the room. 
      Extending her left front paw in that direction, her nail made contact with the ribbed fabric and as she was trawling it ever closer for a look-see, the person scolded, "Bad, kitty!" Retrieving the
ribbon from the edge of the table, she went back to measuring the wrapping paper. 
      "How rude", mused the feline and got up to get a better view of the person and her toys.
On the table was a mix of unwrapped boxes, gift bags (some with attached tags), rolls of
patterned paper and sheets of tissue paper to match the colored paper. There was a tape dispenser,
two pairs of scissors- one with a pinking edge, and an assortment of scented marking pens.
     The bounty was almost too much for the curious kitty.  Bounding upward in a silent arch, she landed smack in the middle of the action. "Bad, BAD Kitty," said the person and picked up the
furry detective to return her to the safety of the floor.
      Miffed but determined, the cat took another approach. This one in stages: from floor to chair, from chair to windowsill. Now she had the table top in a full, unrestricted view.  She was so excited,
she let out a MEOW and jumped back on the table, being ever so careful to land at one edge so as not to invite another scolding,  That move didn't meet with disapproval, although the person narrowed her eyes to mere slits and pursed her lips.
      Sitting still with the exception of an agitated tail, the cat formed a new strategy. Knowing that whatever was going on would stop eventually, she would wait it out. The person couldn't possibly take all the toys away at once and when the opportunity opened up, whatever was in reach was fair game.
      A timer sounded and as the person left the table, heading to check on the cake in the oven, the cat snatched the shiny paper pompom and quickly took her prize to investigate it under the easy chair.  She knew she would be undisturbed for a little while. Well, it was fun for a minute as the last toss
landed the object in the flower arrangement.  Cats have wonderfully long memories and the last time a flower arrangement was disturbed, there was no catnip for a week.
      The person returned to the table and continued whatever she was doing. In the meantime,
the aroma of sweetness and the possibility of forbidden treats was in the other room. Cat headed there and with her pink nose leading the way, found the stash.  On the tiled kitchen table, lined up in rows and columns, were unfrosted cupcakes.  The icing had been left on the counter, as room temperature was always advised before frosting. 
      No boxed mixes in this house; everything was homemade. Naturally, a coating of flour was on the countertop, where the batter had been mixed. "Oooh," purred kitty. "Let's make a design!" and with no interruption from the person, a line of paw prints started on the counter and with one bound,
continued all over the table, being careful not to disturb the pattern of unfrosted treats.
      All of a sudden the cat, being thirsty and not wanting to go to the laundry room for water,
found the opened bottle of buttermilk.  Its opening was too small for a paw, but maybe if
she stood really close, she could lick the contents. It worked! She was happily consuming
the droplets of sweat creamery butter from the top when the person returned to check on the cooling
cupcakes and pull the cake from the oven. "BAD, BAD Kitty," said the woman. 
     Jumping across the double sink and landing on top of the refrigerator, kitty just turned her back
and preened. From that high viewpoint, something new caught her attention. Brightly wrapped boxes were neatly arranged on that same table. Pretty bows with jingle bells and curly-q ribbons, open bags with layers of noisy tissue paper and piles of confetti beckoned her.
     Being that the person was busy cleaning up the kitchen, Kitty returned to the dining room
where she had even more toys to entertain her. sitting up, she began to swat at the wrapping, removing some of the bows from the packages. The bows fell to the floor and were gathered together into a pile. Stepping back to admire her treasure trove, the cat heard "That's it, into the laundry room with you!" 
      Oh well, it was time for another nap anyway. Some minutes later, the doorbell rang and a parade of people filed through the front door.  Everyone stood and admired the beautifully decorated
table and a pile of presents.  A little boy asked, "And where is the birthday kitty?"  "In time out", said the woman, "but you can go and get her."
     Kitty was placed in her basket which had been moved to a chair at the dining table.  Everyone was served dessert and took turns unwrapping the gifts to give to her.  The bounty included - cat grass,
balls, and feathered twine batons. There were several packets of edible treats and assorted catnip
toys. New dishes and nail clipper rounded out the thoughtful gifts. Kitty was passed from one guest to another and hugged and stroked. The little boy said, "I just love coming to Granny's. She has the best parties ever!"
      The birthday feline was one happy cat!  While she sat in the middle of the torn bits and pieces of paper, ribbons, and handwritten cards, the parade of people filed back out the front door. The woman picked up her companion, gave her a kiss and wished her "many more." Kitty could hardly wait for next year!

The Family Dog's First Christmas

     Through the bars, standing on the cold concrete floor which had been his home for seven years,
the old dog watched as the afternoon's last visitor passed by. He wished he could remember when the last one stopped and talked to him. He couldn't. Of course, with all the barking in neighboring kennels and those lined up across from him, he might not have heard any conversation at all. Backing
up to feel the edge of the makeshift bed, he circled once to the right, sniffed and laid down.
     "Here he is. Are you sure you wouldn't want a younger dog?" asked the volunteer. "Nope, I've been dreaming of this one", answered the crackling male voice. "Okay, he's been here a very long time, may not be social. I'm just making certain your decision is based on all the information we have on him." Smiling and bending down to scratch the head of the dog, the boy, took the rope from his pocket and made a loop. He gently placed the homemade leash over its head and gave it a tug.
"He thinks he's going for a walk. We always walk him before dinner. It's the only exercise he gets,"
said the familiar voice.  "What's his name?" asked the boy, age twelve with hair that was almost the same color as the coat of the dog.  "He doesn't have a legal name," she answered. "Good, I'm gonna call him Sunny, because his eyes are bright."
     The two joined an excited group of children and two adults in the waiting room. With the approval of his mom and dad, the group escorted the new family member to the waiting pick up truck. Sunny jumped in the bed of the dusty black two door, followed by the twelve-year-old, one four-year-old
and her favorite dolly. Two younger children joined the adults in the front seat.
     It was a bouncy trip up the county road which connected the humane society to town. Once they were back to paved roads, Sunny steadied himself between the two children and breathed in everything at once. His ear flaps made him look like he was flying!
     "We're home", squealed the two in the front seat. Sunny stepped down on to unfamiliar
green softness. It was cool, but not the sterile cool of the kennel floors. Children ran circles around him which caused excited barking. "Well, well", said the dad. He DOES have a voice after all. Sounds like a baritone!"
     "It's perfect, just like in my dream", said the official owner. "I'm gonna let him loose and see where he goes." Sunny sat down.
     The sun was setting, the wind was up and the dog's new bed was being warmed by the fire.
"I can't get him to move!" cried the little sister.  "He's gonna freeze stiff", she wailed.
"Maybe he's waiting for his leash," said Dad. "He's used to being tied to people. I will bring him in."
      "Let's sing carols", suggested Mom.  "After all, it's Christmas Eve and if you want Santa to find us,you're going to have to sing your loudest!"
       Sunny joined in and the faces usually grimaced with having to remember the lyrics, burst into hysterical laughter. Sunny's baritone voice could be heard over the combined laughter. He was telling Santa where to find them and not to bring any presents for him because he already had the most wonderful gift of his life - a family of his very own.



     






Back Up Plan

 People and their animal companions have extra relationships that families without pets don't have.
Veterinarians, obedience trainers, groomers, and pet sitters make up the pet care industry. Sometimes pet owners need to make alternate arrangements.
      Glory and Sandy were long time clients of another pet sitter.  I was called because she couldn't commit to days the owners needed to be away.  I knew that the dogs would be confused to have another person caring for them. All I could do was my best.
     At the interview, I was sniffed at and ignored. It's challenging to step into another sitter's routine.
The owner tried her best to explain what had ALWAYS been the routine.  Well, that was good to know. I was not the other sitter.  I was me and the dogs would treat me as such - a total stranger.
     The home was in the same neighborhood as another client, so streets were familiar. Walking after dark would be safe for us and I was relieved as managing two big dogs in unfamiliar surroundings
was not what I wanted to do.
     Sandy was well "sand" color and a golden retriever.  Glory was a white Labrador. Neither one would be considered a lap dog, but Sandy didn't understand that.  The family room had a pair of couches facing each other and separated by a long coffee table. The "leg room" was narrow between the table and the couch.  I don't think the furniture arrangement had been moved - ever.  Some homes are like that because the people are comfortable with the arrangement or the people who hired an interior decorator never questioned the floor plan.
     I soon learned that the dogs had dibs on the couches.  It was perfectly alright for me to sit with them, but stretching out was not possible.  A retriever laying down is four times the width of the same dog in a seated posture.  A Labrador is of similar configuration but has more girth.  There's just no people room. I wondered where the other sitter relaxed.  She was much taller than I was.
     There were other rooms to relax in. There was an office that resembled any movie set of a typical British library. The paneling was dark, the leather chairs were masculine and I believe the flooring was a complementary neutral shade. I didn't feel comfortable in that room. A formal living room with french doors connecting to a patio was available to relax in, but the dogs didn't go in there. It was off-limits to the casual house guest which left me guessing it was for cocktail parties.
     A very small eat-in kitchen was also downstairs. The rest of the house remains a secret as I never ascended the stairs.
     All I remember, this many years later is that after I fed them, I would go out of the kitchen door with them to the tennis court. There we could toss the ball around for some exercise. Walks followed that
activity and we would head to the street directly from the courts.
     I am in favor of symmetry.  The dogs were accustomed to walking TOGETHER. Sandy and Glory
had to teach me that my left hand was to hold both leashes and if one headed off, followed by her companion, I would soon be at the mercy of a combined one hundred pounds of stubborn dogs.
I tried to walk BETWEEN them. Nope, Glory would sit down and wait until I moved to the right. We went walking with curbs and driveways always on my left.  There was no way I was allowing them the middle of the street privileges.
     Our first walk was easy.  They showed off.  I took notes, "Sandy on the outside, Glory likes to sit down and watch for squirrels. "Sandy can jump on people. Glory barks at bicyclists." I felt ill-equipped and that's not like me. I have never been outmaneuvered by a dog. But these two were trying their best to train the new gal. I learned the rules and the next couple of days were uneventful.
     Once we got back to their home, everyone relaxed. Well, they relaxed. I washed the dog dishes, hung their leashes back up, wrote a few notes to the owner, and left. I was on duty every five to six hours at my leisure. On my second day, I thought to stack the deck and had Milkbone treats in my pockets.  Okay, I cheated. A pet sitter has to have a few tricks up her sleeve. Twice each day, we would walk and by the time I said my final goodbye, my confidence was back.
     I don't really remember anything unusual or anecdotal about the rest of that job except. . . I did stop in a few days later and met the other pet sitter.  Apparently, I had interrupted a nap. She thanked me for filling in and gave me her business card. As she turned to close the front door, I noticed her back was completely covered in dog hair. It looks like the dogs knew how to share after all.
 
 

Wednesday, January 30, 2019

Fifteen Yard Penalty!

     Jake was in the dog world, what Fabio was in mine.  His coat of ruddy soft waves and perfect
layers of feathered back legs made him a vision of the breed standard. He was the soul mate of Coach's family and I had a couple of years employment with them. Coach was the high school football coach. I was the mom of a sophomore center lineman.
     Jake was three or four years old and in prime health when we met. His back yard had been interrupted with a two swing and teeter-totter set. Jake needed more exercise than his fenced yard could accommodate. He also needed a team of wranglers to manage him on a simple leash.
     Coach and I reached a compromise. Jake was to wear a body harness for maximum control and I was to teach him how to walk on a leash.
     The retriever is a good-natured breed; often the companion of young families. They are overtly friendly and not known for aggressive behavior. He was an easy-going fellow. I never had to repeat a command. We adjusted to the new routine after a couple of mis-starts. Once the garage door opened,
seventy plus pounds of enthusiasm darted for the driveway. The rubber on the bottom of my sneakers left a trail on the concrete floor as evidence of my trying to keep him calm.
     A dog will train to the voice and gender of the trainer. If the owner is not the one training the animal, obedience may not come naturally. Thankfully, Jake was already accustomed to voice directives and we began our regimen by practicing a handful of basic commands.
      Every couple of houses, we would practice "sit", "lie down", and "come". Introducing the "heel" command confused him. Being on a leash confused him. He was used to his neighborhood and the minimal supervision he had with Coach.
      I didn't see Jake frequently, but when I was hired, we would practice twice each day. He was never allowed in my car so any idea of taking him to an enclosed park, baseball diamond or
other secured area was not an option. We walked the streets of the neighborhood. When we jogged, the narrowness of the sidewalks required us to move to the street as the curbing dipped at each driveway. Sometimes too many cars were parked fender to fender and the rear bumper of the last car seemed to always have a trailer hitch. Leashes can get tangled on them. . . I'm just saying.
     Being a football mom, I was required to know the jargon. I was required to attend all home games and most importantly remain anonymous when seated with all the other football moms. As in any sport, the moms take all the credit. You'd suspect the dads were the rowdy proud ones. Well, I'm here to set the record straight. You don't mess with a football mother.
     Coach and I had a code of mutual respect. I didn't advise him on the strategy of the I formation and he didn't interfere with my efforts to keep Jake safe.
     To keep our exercise times stimulating, I would change directions mid-block. Sometimes I would cross the street, other times I would simply reverse which was perfect for the "heel - stay" combination. We never got to the stage where I am supposed to release the leash and allow him
to respond just on verbal instructions. Having witnessed Jake's excitable stage when a cat appeared, I didn't dare separate from him.
     Our calm, predictable routine ended abruptly one afternoon. Rounding the last corner before crossing over, two dogs rushed us. They meant harm; all teeth, all muscle. They just appeared, streaking at high speed from the front of a house. Jake stopped, and then he froze and growled.
We were in a dangerous predicament and I began to scream. The owner rushed toward us, yelling
at the pair. They retreated, but not before Jake crossed the lawn. I got cussed out for trespassing!
What?  Not my fault. Not Jake's fault.
      My companion was trembling and admittedly I was wobbly in the knees. Once we felt safe to continue, I pulled out my phone and dialed Coach. I gave him the address, description of the dogs,
attitude of the dog owner, and that we were fine. I wanted to file a dangerous dog report with the local animal control. Coach asked me not to. He'd confront her.
      Future walks with Jake were always a little tense. I tried my best to forget the experience. Jake had his mind on other things. His calmness was reassuring.
      He learned to "heel".  I learned to forgive.
   

 
 
 

Monday, January 21, 2019

Fish Tales

       My neighborhood is the "east" subdivision.  There is a "west" one on the other side of the lake.
When we moved in twenty years ago, there was a rumor of an alligator living in the lake.  If I remember it, the casual warning issued us by the realtor was, "just make sure your kids fish from the north bank. Gator doesn't USUALLY cross the midline of the lake." Are you kidding?
      My client needed a quick weekend getaway. I don't remember many of the details, but as I was available and they were within walking distance. I took the job. Their home was lakeside. A cairn terrier, named "Pepper" and his cat, whose name escapes me, would be under my care and supervision for a few days.
      On the afternoon of the interview, I watched as the terrier was let outside and he didn't seem to
be interested in the water. The owner and I sat on the deck and concluded the q and a. She offered me some sweet tea and gave me the key.  Funny, I don't remember asking the client about the reptile.
     The back yard was sloped and only fenced on three sides. Neighboring backyards and those across the lake all had full perimeter fencing. THAT made me nervous!
      Their pets were territorial. The cat had the entire house. Pepper had claim to one easy chair in the family room and a spot on the kitchen floor with a placemat bordered in black paw prints. The scales were balanced because he also had the whole back yard. The master bedroom door was closed and locked, so I never found out who claimed that space. The cat's litter box was in the laundry room and her food bowls were atop the clothes dryer. When I tucked them in, I just said goodnight, made sure the nightlight was on and closed the door.
     Day number one, I was excited to bond with them, but after observing Pepper's non-stop scratching, I picked him up for a closer inspection. Holding Pepper and seated in his easy chair, I found fleas! Checking the cat, I found more fleas! That's fixable. I couldn't find any dog shampoo, so I put the dog in the tub and gave him a long soak in Dawn dish soap. He'd be okay for a couple of days. The cat, however, was totally water repellent. The claws came out, she hissed and I gave in. As evidence, I put a couple of the drowned fleas in a ziplock.
     When the dog went outside, so did his pet sitter. He never went to the water's edge. I stayed close and followed behind him, keeping one eye on the center of the lake. I tried to focus on the south
bank, but the overgrowth would not reveal its secrets. I thought I saw linear movement in the
very hot afternoon of day number two.
     The last day of this job began about thirty minutes past my snooze alarm. I showered, put on scrubs and a light jacket and headed up the street, around the cul-de-sac, and through their garage door. Breakfast had options as there were two leftover canned cat foods in the fridge. I chose fish. I don't think the cat had a preference. I scooped one-third cup of kibble for Pepper and sat down at the table to keep him company. The sprinklers were on, so we waited for the cycle to advance and the two of us went out and stood on the deck. There's a lot to investigate when the lawn is soaking wet, especially when the frogs are frolicking. That little cairn was on a mission to catch the frogs! He was simply outnumbered and gave up the hunt.
     Back inside, my hour's visit was up and I picked up the pet food bowls, washed them and left them to air dry on the counter.  After leaving a quick note as to the morning's activities, I headed out the garage door and pressed the garage keypad. Something in my gut told me to go back inside. The door was locked. Patting my pockets, I found my phone but not the house key. I had two options.
First, call the owner and hope there was a spare key in the garage. Second, call the owner and tell them I called a locksmith.
       I walked home to get my purse and car.  The twenty minutes I was quoted by the dispatcher at A to Z Locksmith turned into an hour. The doorknob was rekeyed and I paid the quoted rate, put the new key on my keyring and went back inside to check on Pepper.  He was visibly agitated and I let him back outside to run off his excess energy.
      That morning didn't go as planned! Thankfully the rest of the day was uneventful. Our last
visit was scheduled for just after dinner. I decided to take Pepper on a long walk, this time past MY house which gave my herd of dogs quite a surprise!
      My client was expected around dinner anyway, so I vacuumed, put the freshly laundered dog towel back in the cabinet and said goodbye. Lights on both their front porch and in the kitchen were switched on. I left Pepper to monitor from the front windowsill and the cat, being the official sentry, curled up and went to sleep in the middle of the hallway.
     I enjoyed working for my neighbor. I recognize her walking Pepper now and again. They prefer to keep across the street from my house. I suspect it is Pepper's choice.
     Maybe the thought of seeing that gator gave me a new appreciation for just letting things be and trust the wisdom of Mother Nature. Mutual respect is the basis of a community. Does a fence keep us in or does it keep us out? Maybe we don't need one. Pepper never thought he did.

 
      .


Monday, January 14, 2019

Good Ole Boy

     He was seventeen when I met him. His mistress was the relative of two clients.  Being sisters, I expected the women to be similar.  Not even close.  One was redhead and introverted with daughter exhibiting the same social phobia.  The elder was blond with a long career in banking.  My client for the weekend was the middle sister and she was raven-haired and a local celebrity artist, who lived on the Intracoastal Waterway.
     Her dog, Charlie was a white lab. He loved his routine and his people. They loved him too and knowing he would be happiest at home, called their veterinarian for a referral.
     When I received the phone inquiry, I was asked, "Do you do nails?" I replied that I did not offer grooming services and further explained that I scheduled multiple home visits during the day,
     His life was quiet and at the time we met, he was asleep in the middle of the family room.  He woke up long enough to check me out and went right back to his nap. During my first minutes of the interview, she asked me, "Do you mind cleaning up after him? He has lost control and has accidents; especially when he gets up from sleeping." This complication comes with caring for very old dogs like Charlie.  I answered that I didn't mind as long as cleaning supplies were available.
     After the first meal, Charlie wanted to go out. Being somewhat wobbly, we walked together
through the patio, around the corner, through the half swing gate, and onto the lawn. The green
extended right to the shoreline and he headed to the dock like he had done all his life. On the way,
he stopped and looked for the squirrels and was hopeful that they had missed some of the peanuts
under the oak tree.
     I let him off the leash and went back to the patio to grab a handful of dried corn cobs. The previous days supply needed replacing. He waited and stood looking at the water.  I imagined his long memory was his closest friend.  We spent maybe fifteen minutes before heading back inside. Charlie had enough fresh air and was anxious to return to his nap. Being able to stay with him for most of the day allowed me to monitor his activity level.  I was prepared for the inevitable, but he gave no sign of declining health.  He would look up to see if I was there and finding that I had not moved to another part of his house, continued to drift in and out of dreams.
     The few days we were together, that first job\ gave me a new appreciation for the ordinary life.
Charlie loved his routine; it was comfortable. We were a good fit. He was needing an understanding pet sitter. His physical challenges did not define him.  He had integrity and patience. We spoke the same language and it came from the heart.
     He had another full year of predictable days and I had the great privilege to care for him.  He was a gracious mentor; his life lessons stay with me still.
     From the 1895 Poem "Judge Softly" - by Mary T. Lathrap

"Pray, don’t find fault with the man that limps,
Or stumbles along the road.
Unless you have worn the moccasins he wears,
Or stumbled beneath the same load."

In this case, paw prints will do.