Controlled KAOS!

 

 

When it comes to home security, I like to think of myself as the Maxwell Smart of pet sitting. I maintain a healthy sense of urgency. Some might call it paranoia, but I call it common sense. I lock my doors after entering my apartment. At night I close my window coverings. During warmer months, I'll keep my windows open but close and lock them before going to bed. I have security gates at both front and back doors. I feel very secure with my Get Smart level of security.

Some clients however, do not share the same level of urgency. They are completely satisfied with leaving doors, windows and anything else that gives access to the inside of their home unlatched like they're living in Canada. Some refuse to draw their window coverings or have none at all, unfazed by the fact that any and everybody can peer in to catch a glimpse of their seemingly controlled lives. Their level of trust in humanity is staggering.

When I'm on an Overnight visit, I channel my inner Agent #99 and do a perimeter sweep locking every window, every door and drawing any window covering that's available. 

I was once offered to stay in a client's lovely guest house complete with it's own little kitchen, bathroom and bed area. The problem? I was surrounded by three walls of windows with ZERO blinds or curtains! I was not up for offering free OnlyFans content. It would've been painstakingly pedestrian, at best, anyway. Needless to say I camped out in the living room with one wall of windows which hovered above eye level. Not 100% happy, but it will do.

Another time I did an overnight in a guest bedroom with again...zero window coverings. But the few windows were small enough where I fashioned makeshift curtains out of my clothes. From Get Smart to MacGyver. I have to Control the KAOS somehow.

A client of mine warned me that there had been a series of break-ins in their neighborhood and asked me to make sure I locked the door behind me after entering the home. I'm not a rookie agent! Of course I'm going to lock the door. Not only do I value your pet's safety, but because frankly I value my life! 

What clients do in their homes is their business. They can whoop it up and live freely like it's the roaring '20's without a care in the world. But when I’m there, I’m the Agent on duty, enforcing modern-day security measures one locked latch at a time. And if real chaos comes calling, thank goodness I don't have to use my shoe to call Agent 911.

Petanormal Activity!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As a pet sitter, I’ve encountered my share of surprises; chewed up furniture, tinkle accidents and a cat that pulled a ‘Shawshank’ by knocking out her entire locked cat door! She never made it to Mexico cause I had treats.

But nothing compares to the two times I’ve walked into a client’s home, only to be greeted by...Bed Ghosts aka Unexpected Guests! It’s extremely traumatizing calling for a pet when what I thought was a lumpy unmade bed starts moving! I scream. They scream. And there are no frozen treats involved! 

I don’t ask no questions, I don’t wait for an explanation. I’m running out the door like the Final Girl in a horror film. Instead of calling for help I’m calling the client asking, “WTF?!” Ok, maybe not those words, but with that intent.

Before every ‘meet & greet’, I make it crystal clear: if anyone has access to the house, I need to know. Who, when, why; just give me the scoop. It’s a simple ask! During the ‘meet & greet’ I ask again, “Are you expecting anyone? Does anyone else have access?” And yet, on two separate occasions, I’ve found myself haunted by the aforementioned bed dwellers.

I’m here to care for your fuzzy babies, not navigate close encounters with surprise house guests. It’s bad for my blood pressure. Unlike Ray Parker, Jr. I am definitely afraid of ghosts – especially human ones hiding your sheets.

Detestable Retractable!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Every pet owner has their own preferred method of walking/transporting their pet - leashes, carriers, backpacks, strollers, pneumatic tubes (just kidding, but honestly that's next). All of that's fine. I'll walk or transport their pet however the client wants.

BUT! And this is a big but, metaphorically - not my own; I will not use a retractable leash. A retractable leash is an accident waiting to happen. In fact I'm pretty sure that's on the label. "Walk your dog with the new Accident Waiting to Happen!"

If your dog gets too far ahead, the car backing out of the driveway won't see Fido. Sure you can push the button to stop the pup. But now the retractable has become a medieval garrote and folks will be wondering what kind of mob ties the dog had or if the mailman had finally had enough!

Not only that, the handle can easily slip away from you, hit the ground and clickety-clack against the pavement and scare the dog into taking off like Usain Bolt. And suddenly you're wondering what your next job is going to be because the client is gone tell 'erbody you lost their dog. And ain't nobody gonna hire the Dog Loser!

That's why I always keep a spare non-retractable leash in my bag. And when I gently inform the client that I will not be using their retractable leash, I make it clear that it's about safety. Am I a leash snob? Perhaps. But most professional pet sitters who have been in this game a while, won't use retractable leashes either. 

A little snobbery goes a long way. The client will be happy and they will still have their dog intact after I walk them...unless they've already been neutered [enter rim shot here].

The Fellowship Of The Hoarders!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The occasions on which I’ve had to pass on a client are few and far between. It takes a lot for me to say, ‘thanks, but no thanks.’ Even if I know a client might be difficult, I’ll take them on and add the DCT later (Difficult Client Tax). 

However, the rare exceptions share one key trait: hoarding. The first giveaway is always the same: “Oh it’s never like this. I just haven’t had a chance to clean up.” Really? You haven’t had a chance in the past...20 years?

One client’s hallway was barely passable, lined with cans of unidentifiable chemicals. Could’ve been paint, could’ve been plutonium. My first thought wasn’t how to take care of her cat. It was, “I don’t want to die in this hallway!” Her cat, bless its soul, had adapted to its environment; much like the dogs of Chernobyl.

Then there was the couple whose home was so overcrowded I couldn’t even see the floor. Somewhere beneath the mountains of clothes, magazines, and questionable knick-knacks were two cats - allegedly. I never saw them. I politely decline clients like this and explain that ‘I don’t think I’m the right fit for you.’

I get it. Life happens. Right now my own closet looks like Sauron’s give-a-way bag. But when the passageways in your home look like you’re on a journey to Mordor, it might be time to call a professional (and I don’t mean me).

As a pet sitter, I’m here to care for your fuzzy babies. Part of that care means ensuring I can safely navigate the space to not only find your 'precious' fuzzy baby, but to ensure their safety as well. Because if I have to bring a GPS, a flare gun and a ten thousand year old wizard just to locate your cat, there's no amount of Bitch Tax to take the job. Oops! I meant...DCT.

Becoming “Miss Minutes”: TVA’s Guide To Fido’s Timeline

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ah, the elusive 15-minute visit. Some of my clients love this option to save money—and trust me, I’m all about saving a dollar. But then there are the Variants...I mean other clients. The ones who look at that 15-minute slot and think I’m Miss Minutes and can manipulate the space-time continuum.

What the client wants done within 15 minutes, may go something like this: “Hey after Fido’s walk, can you also give him his medication, his food, brush his coat, wipe his paws, brush his teeth, wipe his ass, play with the cat, move my car, take the trash out and do the hokie-pokie and turn yourself around?”

I do become Miss Minutes in a way as I politely say, “Well my stars that's a lot! We’re working with a limited window of time sugar.” I would never call anyone ‘sugar.’ But I will say, “I can’t do both abc and xyz, unless we bump it up to a 30-minute visit.” Nine times out of ten, the client agrees. But then there’s He Who Remains—the one client who decides to test the limits of reality. “If I can do abc and xyz in 15 minutes, why can’t you?!”

At this point, I’m tempted to say, “I haven’t gained my certification as a Tempad-carrying Minuteman. And in order to avoid a Nexus event, I will not be able to alter Fido’s timeline.”  I generally opt for silence. In most cases they say, “Fine, we’ll do the 30 minutes.” Other times they come across like Mobius and say, “Please do as much as you can in 15 minutes!”

Time is precious, and so is Fido. And until we reach the level of quantum physics to leap from one multiverse to another; let’s keep our expectations rooted in reality. Meanwhile, I’m still waiting for Amazon to deliver my Reset Baton and my Tempad.

Pray Tell My Good Lady...Can My Dog Say Hi?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When walking clients' dogs, I’ve learned to keep my wits about me; not for coked-out squirrels or sidewalk scooter demons, but for people. Some folks will make a beeline towards me and the dog like I’ve got the last Infinity Stone.

If they don't say anything I'll either cross the street or pick up the pace like I’m escaping a World War Z zombie. But eventually, they will say something like, "Can my dog say 'hi?'" Or, "I think my dog knows that dog."

When I first started out I felt the need to go into this long Shakespearean monologue about why I couldn't allow it. “Alas, the limit of my insurance liability doth prick the sides of my intent, and prudence doth beseech me to bid thee and thy hound fare thee well!" Now I just say, "Not my dog. Sorry," and keep it stepping. “Alas, Brevity is the soul of wit.” But ain’t nobody trying to be funny. People get downright offended when I tell them ‘no.’

In one instance, a woman walking her tiny Maltese, kept coming towards me. After I politely told her to please don’t approach, she copped a snarky attitude and said, "OH! Like my little dog could hurt yours?!" I calmly replied, "No, I don't want your dog to become my dog's Scooby Snack!"

Sometimes the truth is all the poetry you need…Alas!

 

Meniscus and Situational Awareness

 

 

 

 

 

 

Most days, walking dogs is uneventful. Other days, it's George.

George is one of my regulars and he’s a good boy, but he is a bit ‘dog aggressive.’ I have a whole routine, not just with George, but all the dogs under my care. See another dog? Cross the street. Spot a dog in the distance? Head in the other direction. Hear a leash jingle? Duck and weave like I’m LeBron James in the playoffs.

But sometimes, even the best-laid plans can’t save you.

One day, George and I were walking and there was a French Bulldog I didn’t see, because he was walking in the opposite direction in the street behind cars like a ninja. George sensed him. And before I knew it George made a fast and quick U-turn in front of me. The upper half of my body followed, but my left leg didn’t. Now I’m a card-carrying member of the Torn Meniscus Club.

So stay vigilant. Wear roller-skates (just kidding). And don’t underestimate the power of glucosamine and chondroitin. My knees are held together by supplements and sheer will at this point.