THE SONIC BOOMER
For reasons of unimportance to this story, I was put in charge of two dogs last week.
Anyone who knows me (and that includes you, faithful reader!) knows that I do not have, nor do I want, a pet. It could be that I don’t have time to wash my hands every time I pet something furry; it could be that I don’t want animals on any of my workspaces, including (heaven forbid!) my kitchen counter; or it could be that I once had a pet goldfish, but that interaction resulted in a brief ceremony and a rude flushing that could have scarred me for life. I don’t know. Other people have pets. Other people seem to like them. They cite “unconditional love” as the reason. Meh.
Not only that, but when people travel, they need someone to mind their pets. I, enigma that I am, choose unrestricted travel plans over imposing upon someone else with my animal — yet here we are.
Twice a day last week, I had to drive 45 minutes round trip to feed and walk these animals. I was greeted at the front door by two frantic, excited dogs that had to jump up to put their paws on my shoulders and lick my face (yuck!) to welcome me. Well, not to welcome me, as much as to welcome my magical ability to open their food container.
Firstly, I would give them each a treat. This was clearly a ruse to get them off my person, but they did not see it as such. They saw it, in their prideless little doggy brains, as “A Treat!” Nothing more.
Secondly, I would attach their leashes. This meant battling them into submission and untangling them from each other two or three times. The walk itself was uneventful for me, but second only to the possible explosion of a nearby Purina factory to them. Squirrels, birds, other dogs — they loved it. They loved it so much that one of them had to chase off a momma dove, slurp up her baby from its nest and regurgitate its now-lifeless body onto my feet in a splendiferous show of gratitude. Wow. Thanks.
Thirdly, the grand finale — dinner. I plopped it into their bowls, refilled their water, thoroughly washed my hands and hastily made my exit while they were eating.
But last week when I arrived, the oldest of the dogs could not get up. It lay there in a pool of its own pee, legs splayed in all directions and miserable. I fed it, watered it, cleaned it up, then loaded both dogs into my car. At home, my aim was to set the sad dog’s bed out on the porch and gently place her into it. But, before I could do this, I had to remove a dead mouse (yes!) that one of the neighborhood cats had left there as yet another splendiferous gift. I am so honored.
Three days at my house and sad dog is fine now, mostly because I spoke with her owner who told me that, oh yeah, she needs daily joint medication and also, would I mind keeping them another week?
Current score: Vacationers – 1. Dogs – 1. Cat – 1. Mouse, bird and myself – 0, unless you count the “unconditional love,” of course.
