Wind and Rain and Hurricane

When a car as heavy as my Cadillac begins to rock and roll, I knew my evening's visits would have an elevated risk of danger.  The hurricane was coming and I had half dozen individual dogs home alone.  All local veterinarians had filled up the day before, as this coastal low land began its emergency preparations. The Governor had already briefed senior administration, the local military bases were on high alert.  Gas stations were closed for lack of fuel.

This scenario is frequent here, and those of us who have been through the few category three and higher hurricanes since 1999, know the routine. Sometimes, we heed the warnings, other times, unexpected life events throw us a curve ball. This time I had the catcher's mitt.

I had been mentally preparing and making alternate plans; if necessary I would bring the animals to my house, which I knew was fortified against the predicted 130 miles per hour wind. Thankfully, I had my husband home and he agreed to drive me. Not driving gave me much needed focus. I was on the phone constantly with my clients, trying to reassure them their companions would be safe.

The storm's imminent approach had vacated most of the coastal area. Law enforcement was posted at designated mileposts, advising drivers to turn back.  I couldn't turn back and with my driver as determined as I was, we left the house around 9 p. m. The route was not complicated, there were no back roads to navigate. We were hopeful that any downed trees would not block our path.

By the time we backed out of our driveway, leaving our own animals in interior windowless rooms,
rain was sheeting against the windshield. The wind was clocked at 85 mph. We were both layered
in weatherproof gear, had multiple flashlights, kennels, towels, and blankets piled in the back seat.

The animals were terrified, their owners the same. I was not terrified, I was determined.  My husband was retired US Navy, well trained and steely calm.

Entry into my customers' homes required both of us. The dogs and one cat were under furniture,
in spaces too small to accommodate them.  The cat was as high above the kitchen cabinets as she could get and reaching for her took acrobatic effort. I had bloody evidence on both hands for weeks.

Clean up detail would have to wait until the storm subsided.  I managed to wipe what I could see.
I was explaining to my husband where he could find food, and make sure water bowls were available and full.  We walked through the houses checking windows and doors.  I made sure all weapons were
stored and locked.  Garage doors were locked and alarms were reset.  I left contact information taped to the inside of the front door (in ziplock baggies) for emergency personnel, just in case.

Leaving the distressed animals was not what I wanted to do.  It was not my call. Owners would keep
me posted and I would be back before dawn, providing I could get back.

I didn't sleep.  I sat up with my own lap full of shaking dogs, listening to nature's screams. The phone
rang with frantic clients.  I couldn't tell them what was happening at their house.  I was at my house.
Dawn came, relative calm returned with winds topping 50 mph and I was able to make another round, passing the Waffle Houses, which were the only businesses open for miles.

Dogs are amazingly resilient. Cats are not. Cats do not forgive interruption to their daily routines.
They pout. As was the case of the single feline during this unforgiving assault by Mother Nature.
For the few days following, she remained hidden.  I never did ask her family where they found her.
All I knew, was the cat box hinted that she was okay.

While the power company, waste and debris removal teams, FEMA crews and city emergency personnel surveyed the damage, I continued my rounds, grateful for the trust of my clients and
their animal companions.  As owners returned, some having been stranded at airports, the calls were
welcomed relief and release of pent up anxiety. Some had property damage to fence lines and
carports. Others were untouched.  All were extremely grateful and I slept, with all my dogs on the bed.

Sometimes a pet sitter is not just a pet sitter, she is a heroine in disguise.

Cat on a Rope

I have a cat companion of the INSIDE variety. I used to have a cat who wanted to be an OUTSIDE
companion.  I adopted her through a veterinarian. I was warned she was feral but thought I could convert her.  That would be a no, as she jumped through a second story window twice. Tabby was captured both times through baited kennels and lived out her natural unhappy indoor life at my house.

This tale is about "Tigger" who is the sole pet of former clients. His care is now in the capable hands of my daughter, who volunteered as my helper in her middle school days. My visits with Tigger were uneventful and leisurely. Sometimes he was cuddly, but as he got older, I'd often find him
attached to the duvet on the master bed. He might lift his head, just out of curiosity, and finding it was me, return to napping.

In warmer weather, which is most of the year here, he was allowed out to explore as much of his yard as the rope would allow. It wasn't really a rope, it was a harness attached to a reinforced nylon
tether which screwed into the lawn. Being that his yard was unfenced, the effort to keep him secure while attaching the harness could be a problem. The effort was exponentially challenging when
the wildlife encroached the property line.

I don't know what his family thought. Perhaps they considered him a dog in cat's clothing. Any cat I've ever known wouldn't put up with being leashed. However, Tigger didn't seem too concerned,
his radar was set to explore the low lying terrain.  I don't know if he had ever successfully climbed a tree or chased anything larger than the occasional possum or soft shell tortoise. When I visited him,
we remained together in the yard. The exercise period made me nervous. It wasn't too many miles away that I had encountered the bear (Stargazing).

Nothing ever happened. Tigger was a mellow fellow.  Living with two little boys and their
never-ending toy box probably made him thankful for the opportunity and the smells and sounds that only a cat appreciates. Sometimes, he would announce we were going out in the rain. So, out we went. Most of his time was under the patio table, but his head was fully back and he was smiling. Me? I just stayed under the awning and appreciated the freshly laundered air.

I know the modern cat owner is encouraged to walk them.  I've been witness to this contrary interpretation of the natural world. It's a popular activity for the younger generation. Truthfully,
I have mixed opinions.  I laud the effort to allow the cat to reconnect with mother nature. I applaud
the cat for having one over on his/her owner. I wonder what the dogs (on their leashes) think.

Pet people are a breed apart. I find them in grocery and department stores. I find them
at the Starbucks and increasingly at the drive thru's ordering meals for their animal companions.
And most recently, on Youtube, a woman with her pet Giant Anteater on a walk. Oh, how I wonder
who her pet sitter is?

Pet sitter or Maybe Not

The strangest job I was hired to do had nothing to do with an animal.  The meet and greet with the home owner began without fanfare.  I HEARD the dog behind the closed door.  I HEARD the bird from the kitchen.  I SAW the bird in its cage. I SAW the bag of birdseed on the kitchen floor, propped up with the broom and dustpan.

My charges for the week were house plants. They were scattered on the patio in container vases, hanging baskets, and high above me on the pergola. The patio was not spacious.  The house was the same.

He agreed to pay my going rate, which at the time was unreasonably cheap.  I hadn't been in business too long and my daily charge was fixed so that even those on modest incomes could afford quality pet care.  It bothered me to know that animal companions were left on their own, sometimes for days, because the family simply couldn't afford to pay someone to provide care.  Anyway, back to the plants.

I don't quite recall that the specimens required specialized care.  Just water.  There was one exception, however, which made me uncomfortable.  Their child's science fair project involved a dozen styrofoam cups with seeds.  Six of which were to be kept out of natural sunlight.  The remaining
half dozen were on the kitchen counter.  The thesis had to do with natural sunlight verses incandescent lighting.  So, before I said good night to the outside plants, I had to remember to switch on the kitchen ceiling light.

I don't know what happened to their resident pets.  Not my concern.  I tell you, I didn't feel the need to stay my usual hour.  How much conversation can one have with a plant?  I'm sure they would have been an eager audience for story time. But, I wasn't feeling it.

Every day, I would fill the watering can with tap water and drench the dozen or so leafy beings.

Sadly, half the seeds didn't sprout.  I still carry that burden as I was never above a C in science class.
The little girl was very disappointed, but her dad explained what "experiment" meant.

My phone rang to announce that they were home. I was thanked for my time and attention
to the plants and a few days later, a check arrived.  No tip.  I guess the plants had nothing to say.

User Unfriendly

During my career, I had two rules.  First rule - nothing that slithers or crawls vertically or has scales , is totally hairless or lives in a terrarium.  Second rule - No dogs under one year of age. I figured if veterinarians could limit their practices, so could I. There's always someone who has more experience with exotics, livestock and the under trained or untrainable.  I had to maintain a pack leader mentality if dealing with dogs and a casual curiosity when caring for cats.  Rats, gerbils, hamsters and other rodents were fairly self contained-just toss in a few pellets and refill the water tube.  When the owners returned, they could put their diminutive critter in its exercise ball and let it roll.  Fish, especially if tropical, required daily water temp check and a few flakes of their relatives.

My appointment was with a dog owner. Just one dog?  Easy.  But she forgot to tell me that the rabbit hutch was inside the laundry room and two nasty tempered bunnies would also require care. It's
not uncommon for pet owners to entice the care giver with a deliberate omission of their reality.
Some are embarrassed, others just don't think to include the other pets in the hopes that the price
remained the same.  I always charged per day; never per animal.  But on a couple of jobs, I seriously
reconsidered my strategy!

I didn't know about rabbits.  I didn't know they could be wicked.  Being unfamiliar, put me at a disadvantage and I relied on the owner to fill me in on the details.  Bad decision.

Of course, each responded to their names when SHE called them.  Of course,THEY knew the schedule. It went something like this.  Open pen door, place bath towel over one, pick up the other and move to outside pen. Swaddle the first one and place her in secondary pen. Clean pen-remove hay and clean surfaces. Put soiled hay into debris dumpster in garage.  Change water. Go to kitchen, open sandwich baggies with pre cut veggies, put in clean cereal bowl. Take filled bowl to inside pen and get the bunnies back into the pen. These two were not the ones in the story books or in the pet store just before the Easter holiday. They were user unfriendly.  

On the second day, I developed red, watery eyes.  I developed labored breathing.  I called the owner.
She said, "oh you're probably ALLERGIC!  I should have asked you about allergies.  My daughter is also allergic to them." The conversation continued, "There are rubber gloves in the drawer there and you will need a warm air mask."

I don't remember what I said because I was busy rubbing my eyes and pulling kleenex from my purse.  On the way home, I stopped in the drug store and bought a carton of masks and a bottle
of over the counter NON drowsy allergy tabs.

The last few days, I finally thought I had the hang of it and felt some compassion for the blasted bunnies. The one dog didn't seem to mind sharing his home with them. Thankfully he wasn't a sporting breed.  That would have made me nervous.  As it was, I was already out of my comfort zone. Their dog got extra TLC from me and the owner got a bill with receipt from the drug store.

I am thankful for that job because my learning curve grew and added nasty tempered rabbits to my rather short list of acceptable animal companions. I had recent experience, valuable insight and could expand my service to include ONE specie of farm animal.

I was always learning something new. Pet sitting was nothing if not unpredictable.  My lesson this time was expect surprises and be sure to pack gloves, masks and NON drowsy allergy tabs.

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.