For years my friend Dennis, entrusted me with the care of his animals when he would travel. First with his Dalmatian, Kiva, then again when he got Sophie, his adorable little Yorkie. Since Dennis moved away I haven't done much 'doggy sitting', until this past weekend when my newest tenants felt comfortable enough to ask me to take care of their cute little Pug, Otis.
Otis is a good dog, who sort of resembles a football with feet, and he seems to really like my dog Molly. After the first couple of times I went over to let Otis out to pee, I decided he needed to come over to my house and play with Molly for awhile. After a few minutes of play, Otis noticed Molly's bowl of food that I had just filled for her. What I didn't know is that Otis' last name is Hoover. I turned my back on him for thirty seconds and when I turned back the food bowl was empty, licked clean. How the hell could that little dog eat all that food, that fast? That was enough food for a seventy pound dog. After that, I had to diligently take Otis out every two hours or so, because all that food produced a lot of poop.
I wasn't always a trustworthy pet sitter. When I was younger I didn't always understand what dogs wanted or needed. In 1972 I lived with a friend in a small apartment on the northwest side of Chicago. It turned out that my friend Tom wasn't really named Tom, and that he was AWOL from the Marines. Tom decided to turn himself in and asked if I would take care of his German Sheppard, Caesar, while he served his time.
Caesar never did believe that I was the master of the house. He would chew my things up, and look at me like "So what are you gonna do about it?". When I would walk him, he took his time and made sure every inch of the neighborhood was christened with his scent. Late one night, I felt lazy, and I decided Caesar could hold it until morning, and I went to bed. Early the next morning I was having a strange dream, that somebody was holding me down. I awoke from that dream to find Caesar sort of sitting on my chest, ass towards my face. By the time I realized what was happening the poop was already on its way. Yes, the dog had got up on my chest, squatted, and crapped all over me.