Anyone young enough out there to remember Lucille Ball and Vivian Vance’s “Candy Factory” episode? It’s a classic. All about benevolent chaos.

So has been my week, especially yesterday. I’m so doggone tired, my dogs are barking. Both puns are intended.

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My pet sitting service is starting to take off. Yesterday I had nine adorable charges.

Four of them were kenneled Boykin Spaniels – a splendid breed. (type it into the Internet.) The Boykins range all ages and level of training. It’s a 7-day job. The owners also have one perfectly trained Jack Russell (trained the way they are supposed to behave – mellow and adorable, unless another dog tries to sniff her butt), and one overly exuberant mixed Black Lab teenager. There is also a ‘house’ Boykin. The job pays well, but I will need to adjust my fees next time just to cover my Advil expenses. :) I leash-walk four of the Boykins (oh, I forgot to mention that I am tending about $30,000+ worth of Boykins). I feed three dogs (the other four have self-feeding gizmos), I water all the dogs, and I scrub out kennels with pee, which is usually only one of the dogs and she pees (dagnabit) when she sees me and gets all excited. I give meds to two dogs. One is an easy pill – the other is an ointment application, which requires Cirque du Soleil skills. The first time I tried to apply the ointment, Jackie leapt and d-r-a-g-g-e-d me across the pea pebbles in the courtyard. I have minor scratches as proof. I swear to you, she dragged me about four feet. Not far you say? Are you nearly 60-years old, just recovered from two slipped disks, and have a hip replacement? Stunned as I was, I stood up, brushed myself off, and laughed very loud and hard. It was clearly my fault. I now have a foolproof, more successful approach to this task. The dogs are amazing – each with significant nuances of personality. Adare, the Grand Dame, is about 150-years old (affectionate hyperbole) and arthritic. She was mildly fearful of me the first day. Now, she follows me everywhere – trots beside me sans leash and never stops wagging her tail. She’s the one I give a pill to each morning – for her arthritis.

Pic of Baxter:


Photos were hard to take, but here’s Adare:


Adare

Here’s Helen, the Jack Russell:


Helen

More pics of Baxter:




Another client today was a one-day job. There was an ancient Black Lab, Tess, and a cat, Franny. Tess’s brains could fill a thimble, but omigod, she was adorable! I probably set a bad precedent, but the only way she would eat was for me to sit on the floor beside her dish and sweet talk her – all the while, Franny the cat purred and snaked around me, stretching her neck for scratching. I also took Tess for three walks.

My third charge this week, a 3-day job, is Baxter. He redefines adorable. He’s a leggy, full-grown, teenage Boxer. That’s his pic above, and more below. His bark is distinctive – sounds like a croaking frog – no joke. At any given moment, his face displays a zillion different emotions. He cracks me up. He scares the hell out of people, but he’s such a big wimp. He runs from shadows and would give the bogey man messy kisses. (Shhhh, don’t tell anyone.)

Although I earned a respectable amount this week, I could blow it all on a masseuse in a flash. But I’ve never been happier. I’ve loved every moment. Though every muscle in my body aches (who needs a gym), I am achy-breaky-happy. Animals are so amazing. They love so unconditionally. The easiest part of my job was returning the love – my heart was bursting with gratitude for all the sloppy licks, soulful eyes, wagging tails, and rumbling purrs. The trust and love is simply amazing – just what a woman amidst a painful divorce needs. :)

And each night I fret and worry and hope my charges are happy. Really. I yearn to jump in my car late at night to check on each and every one of them… but I can’t even jump into bed… I crawl.

I can’t wait until tomorrow! Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks? :)

xoxo