Dog Sitting

I was asked by my friend Katie if I would dog sit for her while she took a trip to Arizona.

For those of you who don't know, I don't like dogs.

There. I said it. I'm not a horrible person, as some might think. I'm not a hater. I do have a soul. I just don't like dogs. They smell horribly. They lick. They shed. They poop. They slobber. They smell your crotch. Did I mention they smell? What among that list of things would inspire someone to own a dog? I'm sorry, but I do not like them.

All these things ran through my head when Katie asked me, but she was in a situation where she needed help. I decided to come to her rescue.

Oh, and did I mention that she has a St. Bernard? So not only was I dog sitting, but I was dog sitting for the smelliest, the biggest, the stinkiest, the biggest pooper, the most slobbering dog that God could possibly create. Oh, and did I also mention that Bo, the dog, is also a puppy? A 150 pound puppy?

I'm a good friend.

To Bo's credit, he really is a good dog. He's mellow. He sleeps a lot. He doesn't bark. He goes into his kennel when called. All in all, he was the best biggest, stinkiest, biggest pooper, the most slobbering dog that I could have watched last week.

I had a few mishaps, though, which made me swear never to get a dog of my own.

My first text from Katie after she had left was, "Oh, I forgot to mention that after Bo eats and then drinks, he'll be a slobbering machine. There are rags in the kitchen you'll have to use to wipe off his face."

Uh...I don't touch dogs. That could be a problem.

So after Bo ate and drank for the first time, as he charged at me for a good petting, I hopped up on the sofa, out of reach of the slobber. He slobbered the table; he slobbered the sofa; but he did NOT slobber me. Narrowly escaped grossness. The table and sofa: not so much.

Next, I let Bo outside so he could run around. I ran upstairs to go to the bathroom, and when I came back down to check on him, he was standing at the door waiting to be let in. PROBLEM: His white paws were covered in brown mud. All four white paws were no longer white, but instead covered in mud. I was horrified. I couldn't let him in the house like that. He's made a track of mud throughout the place. I wasn't about to give him a bath. That involved wet dog, which is the worst kind of dog. The only thing I could think was he had to go in his kennel and clean himself.

So, I moved the kennel right up to the door and opened the screen. He went nicely into his kennel, but then the kennel was there to stay. I couldn't move his 150 pound body, so the kennel stayed right at the door. I squeezed through the little remaining crack between the kennel and the door to survey the damage outside. Sure enough, Bo had started digging a giant hole in the backyard. The hole was about 6 inches deep and about a foot wide. Uh oh.

I left with Britt for a while to calm down. She asked me how I planned on cleaning Bo, and I said my plan was self-cleaning. I was hoping Bo would lick himself clean. Britt said, "Uh, Shi, you have the wrong animal. He's not a cat, you know. Dogs don't lick themselves clean."

Britt and I went back home to check on Bo, and sure enough, my plan had worked like a charm. He had licked himself clean!!! He was as good as new, so I let him outside while Britt and I got ready for dinner. I moved the kennel back to its original spot and opened the door to let Bo in. Much to my horror, Bo had been digging in the hole again. His white paws were once again brown, and he came rushing into the house before I could even realize that he was dirty. Mud flung all over the walls. Dirty paw prints reached from the door to the kitchen. I had ANOTHER mess on my hands.

While Britt got ready for dinner, I was on my hands and knees scrubbing mud off the walls and floor.

More slobbering ensued that night after his dinner. You could find me standing on the sofa escaping the slobber.

The next morning I decided to be a good dog watcher and take Bo for a walk. Since I'm not a dog person, I didn't even think of grabbing a poop bag. When I see people with poop bags, I find it the most disgusting thing EVER, especially when the poop bag is full of, you know, poop. GROSS. Makes me gag just thinking of it. As we began walking, I hoped Bo could wait 10 minutes to poop in his own backyard (Katie said I didn't have to pick up poop-she'd do it when she got back). About a block down the road, Bo decided he needed to poop. Go figure. He'd been outside all morning in his backyard, but he HAD to poop in someone else's yard. He squatted. I turned around so I wouldn't have to watch. As soon as he was done, we took off. I didn't have a poop bag to pick it up, and even if I would have had a poop bag, I sure as hell would not have been the one picking up that pile of sh...

We briskly walked away so we wouldn't get caught leaving poop. I know, I know. I'm a horrible neighbor. I'm sorry. I apologize right now, but yes, I left the poop in some one's yard. As if a sign from God, as we entered a new neighborhood, there was a sign that read, "Pick up your poop. Fines range from $50 to $200." Below the sign were bags to pick up poop. I decided right then and there that our walk was over. I looked over my shoulder to see if someone was running after us. I was clear. I ran Bo home and let him poop in his own yard for the rest of our time together. We did not go on another walk.

Every time I came back to the place after our walk, I looked to see if there was a fine notice hanging on the door. Nothing...I escaped that one.

One evening as I watching TV, the smell emitting from Bo was so horrendous I was gagging as I was watching TV. I had to put Bo in his kennel just so I could watch TV.

On my last morning, Bo played outside for a while as I watched TV. I let him in after some time, and he came and sat by his food bowl. All of a sudden, he started heaving. Heaving. Heaving. I knew what was coming. I grabbed his collar to try to get him outside, but his 150 pound body didn't move. He ralphed all over the floor. It was a pile of slobber and grass. Of course, he couldn't do that outside. He had to wait until he came inside to throw up.

Once again, I was on my hands and knees scrubbing throw up. (If you know anything about my throw up/poop gag reflex, it's not pretty). I got it cleaned up. I needed a drink, so I grabbed a can of pop. I dropped the pop, which landed in his dog bowl, which then exploded. Pop sprayed EVERYWHERE. The cabinets were covered in pop; the floor was covered in pop; the walls were covered in pop. I texted Britt and said, "I'm going to destroy this house if I don't leave soon."

It was about time to leave anyway, so I had to take a rag and clean up all the slobber that was on the table and sofa. That was gross. I made sure all the mud, all the pop, all the whatever else was lingering was cleaned up off the walls and floors. I packed up my clothes, which were COVERED in hair. I said goodbye to Bo and left. I did not look back.

Katie texted me the next morning and asked if Bo had been sick while I was with him because he had diarrhea and was throwing up. She said it was so gross that it had caused her to throw up. Thank God I left before that happened, or Bo would have been left in the dust.

There's one more incident that happened in the middle of the night, but stay tuned for the next blog for that story...

All in all, I did learn to like Bo. He was/is a really good dog, so I had a good experience with him. We bonded.