The Randy Bull Mastiff

 

“Randy” was a very excitable and friendly Bull Mastiff.  Upon meeting him for the first time he was more than happy to show me his toy up close...by shoving it in my stomach! “Ah, he likes you.” the owner said.  Thank goodness, because I’d hate to walk a dog whose entire head was nothing but mouth, to dislike me.

My job was to take Randy to the dog park three times a week.  Because of his size, and his large mouth, I could see the caution and wariness on the faces of passersby.  One of those passersby was more than happy to express her fear and trepidation.  

One time Randy wanted to make friends with a German Shepherd whose owner was walking a few steps ahead.  So Randy galloped towards him, in that playful way that dogs do when they want to play.  The owner, upon hearing Randy approaching her dog, turned around and spurted out, “GET YOUR DOG!” with such venom it rendered me speechless.

She repeated her request again which jolted me out of my Medusa-induced trance, and I called for Randy.  Randy couldn’t have cared less whether or not he got to play with the dog…but my feelings were hurt.  How dare she make such a rash judgment against my dog!  I tend to get a little possessive about the pets in my care.  Randy was a happy-go-lucky pup who loved to play, run, romp around and chase me!  He was also quite the ladies-man. 

Randy loved nothing more than to walk along side a cute babe that was hiking, look up at her and with those eyes, demand a head rub.  Or if he spotted one sitting on a bench, he did not hesitate to jump up and sit next to her.  Not wanting these women to have a heart attack, I’d yell out to them way in advance, “He’s friendly!”  Each time, they all warmed up to him very quickly.

Randy was one of my favorites.  His owner had told me a month ahead of time that they were moving to San Francisco.  However, I was still completely caught off guard when after our last visit together as I was saying goodbye, I bawled my eyes out!!  What the hell was that all about?!  Even Randy’s owner was taken aback.  I hope to God she didn’t think I was a wacko and realized that I was just very fond of Randy.   

That’s one of the occupational hazards of this field.  You get attached so quickly and easily to these fuzzy critters.  They burrow themselves into your heart and curl up in a nice warm spot and stay there forever.  Randy said goodbye to me by jumping up and thrusting his front paws into my stomach. Mushy I know.  But true.  The emotion is mushy...not my stomach.

Gregarious Greyhounds

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Greyhound is a graceful, elegant and ancient breed of dog. It is the only dog mentioned in the Bible (Proverbs 30: 29-31). It is depicted on murals of long ago civilizations.

When I opened the door to take one of these majestic creatures on its first walk...it greeted me by taking a majestic chunk out of my leg! Ok, not literally. It was just curious to know what my jeans tasted like.

The client had been struggling to keep a pet sitter that wouldn't leave after getting bit. The poor fella was a racing rescue and was still dealing with some issues. I knew this during the initial interview and that's why I didn't bail after what I call the, "I'm-getting-to-know-you" bite. I also didn't bail after the, "my-mom's-home-sick-and-I'm-confused-as-to-why-you're-here-so-I'm-gonna-bite-you-just-in-case" bite. 

One day when I bent down to show him where his treat was that he dropped, I still stayed after the "I-think-you're-trying-to-take-my-treat-away-so-I'm-gonna-bite-you" bite.

Needless to say, I managed to receive a tetanus shot in the middle of all of that. And the beautiful and graceful Greyhound and I are best buds now and I have been bite free for over a year now. However, I'm not ruling out the "Happy-Labor Day-do-you-taste-like-BBQ-today" bite.

Vicious Little Rabbits

 

 

 

As a pet sitter, never did I think my first experience pet sitting a cute cuddly little fuzz ball would turn into a heart-pounding adventure.

I'll call the little fella "George." The first time I met George was with his owner. He was bouncing around joyfully enjoying the good 'bunny life.' Perhaps not unlike those who reside at a well-known mansion. That, however, was his demeanor in the presence of his owner.

Upon my first visit with George sans client, I reached down to pat him on the head. It all happened like a bad 70's horror flick. He made a strange grunting noise, mounted himself on his hind legs, and lunged at me with his teeth bared! I recoiled in terror.

Composing myself, I retraced my steps and tried to figure out how I could have caused a totally unprovoked attack. I surveyed the animal's enclosure and his surroundings. I assessed George himself, who to the naked eye appeared a gentle doe-eyed creature. Clever, very clever.

I recounted something the client said that now echoed in my head like sage wisdom from Obi Wan Kenobi. "Remember the towel. He likes to play with the towel." Grabbing the towel I flicked it in George's direction. He was skeptical at first. As well he should have been. I could have been out for revenge afterall. He had to be careful.

Realizing I meant no immediate harm, he proceeded to play with the towel. It was then I discovered I had been holding my breath the entire time. I could now breathe. And George could now bare his teeth for eating carrots...instead of fingers.