License To Pill!

 

As a pet sitter, I pride myself on being prepared. I use what I’d like to think is a sophisticated Swiss Army knife-mode of field technology that would make James Bond’s "Q" jealous. Ok it’s just a pet sitting app. 

But it has fields for everything a sitter would need to know. For instance, there’s the Food section. Most clients give detailed info. ‘Tiger gets ½ can of wet food in the blue bowl at 8am.’ Then there’s Medication: ‘Fido gets an insulin shot at 7pm. Insulin is in the fridge next to what looks like a live science experiment but it’s not. Just don’t touch it.’

But some clients? Zero. Zilch. Nada. When I can’t get a hold of them via text or phone call, I’m left channeling my inner MacGyver!

“What’s this? An open can of tuna in the fridge? Is that today’s dinner or tomorrow’s breakfast? This crumpled note says, ‘Remember the meds.’ Okay, which meds? The blue pill or the red pill? Forget the cat; can I take one of each at this point?”

Sometimes it feels less like pet sitting and more like 007.

Bond Villain: “To survive Mr. Bond, you must determine how much kibble to feed Mittens. Too little and you’ll face the wrath of kitty toe-beans in your face! Too much and…well, let’s just say the litter box will self-destruct in 10 seconds!”

With just a little preparation and detailed information, I’ll have everything I need to properly and confidently care for your pet and maintain my sanity. Because while I love a challenge, I’d rather feel less like MacGyver and more like James Bond…License to Pill! 

Bad puns suck. But good ones are Money Punny! [see what I did there?]

Your Dog is Not a Ming Dynasty Emperor: The Perils of Long Nails

 

 

One of my responsibilities as a professional pet sitter and dog walker is keeping an eye out for signs of illness, behavioral changes, and anything out of the ordinary and yes, including the consistency of your pet’s elimination (glamorous, I know). But the most common issue I see? Nails.

I often find myself telling clients that it might be time for a trim. Because unless their dog is auditioning for the role of a Ming Dynasty emperor, those claws need to go. Overgrown nails aren’t just a minor cosmetic issue; they can lead to serious discomfort, joint pain, and misaligned toes. Plus, if your dog is slipping and sliding across hardwood floors like Tom Cruise in Risky Business, it’s time to grab the clippers.

Long nails change how dogs walk, forcing them to shift their weight awkwardly, which can eventually lead to arthritis or joint issues. And if you’ve ever been on the receiving end of an overgrown paw slap, you already know the dangers firsthand.

So do your pup a favor, get those nails trimmed. Because trust me, the only thing worse than a dog with long nails is the grimace on your face when they use you as a launchpad! 😬

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.

Pass On Tall Grass

One thing I like to avoid when walking dogs is TALL GRASS! I don't know what's in there. I can't see anything. Is there a snake? A rabid cat waiting to take it's revenge out on Fido? Broken glass from a beer bottle that one of the neighbor's guests threw out after their loud party the night before resulting you getting ZERO sleep?! I digress.

You just never know. And although Fido may want to explore and it's tempting to allow his cute little eyes to lull you into letting him stick his snoot in there; don't do it! It may cause a momentary spell of heartache. But you'll avoid any deep regrets of potential injury or harm.

Fido will thank you and so will your client! 

No Ordinary Raccoon

 One summer I watched a cat named Rocky who used a cat door that was installed on the back door of the garage apartment in which he lived.  During one visit I noticed Rocky had made a huge mess of things in his eating area.   Now the apartment's small kitchen was undergoing a renovation and there were tools and various other construction items about the house.  However, I always made sure Rocky's area was neat and clean after every visit cuz that's just what I do.

As I picked up his water bowl to clean out I noticed it was very murky - one of the tell-tale signs of a raccoon.  They like to wash their food and in doing so their dirty feet get washed too.  I realized they were coming in through the cat door.

I notified the client right away and told them it would be a good idea to lock the cat door.  They agreed.  Rocky wouldn't be able to venture in and out.  The next day I couldn't find Rocky.  A short time later he came through the cat door.  The locking mechanism was broken.  I checked his food area and could see that indeed the raccoon had gotten in again, made a mess of the food area and scatted.

This time I barricaded the cat door with a wood panel that I found and braced it with a heavy tool bucket.  I exited out of the front door.  The next day I entered through the front door and immediately went to check the back door.  The bucket and the wood panel had been moved!  This was no ordinary raccoon.  At this point I'm thinking this sucker must be a behemoth and could probably take my lunch money if he wanted to.  

I went to clean Rocky's eating area again and when I bent down "something" scurried under the big chair next to his food area.  I'm never one to panic.  I like to survey, deduce the entire situation...and then decide whether or not I'm going to panic.  

At a distance I bent down to see what was under the chair.  There I discovered two little raccoon cubs!  They were just as startled as I was.  They were not able to get back through the cat door which was still partially barricaded.  I assumed the Momma raccoon couldn't get them out of there.   After much hissing and spitting trying to herd them out with a broom, I knew what I had to do.   I cleared the cat door and propped it open.  I had to cordon Rocky off in the bedroom and leave traces of cat food leading from the chair to the cat door (Jack Hannah would be proud).   

The next day there were no resident raccoons but there was much raccoon poop to clean up.  With the owner's permission I found a much heavier item to barricade the cat door with, which worked.  Poor Rocky couldn't come and go as he pleased for the rest of the time his owner was away, but it was better than him having to deal with an over sized raccoon and her brood.  And I would no longer have to fear a large paw grabbing my leg from under the bed!