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.
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