The Leverage of Dog-Sitters

I inhabit a twisted, disordered realm where my dog-sitter occupies a seat of terrifying authority. This is my regular dog-sitter, an absolute Class A, top-notch, Princess of Pooches. In her former life, she was a literal zookeeper, fully up-to-speed on the care and feeding of over one hundred species of mammals. And she’s sweeter than a slice of tiramisu and my dogs lose their furry little minds whenever she darkens our doorway.

The problem is that her reputation as a world-class pet companion has extended well beyond my humble abode and out into the greater community where I live and consequently, if I don’t lock her down for a gig, the odds of scoring her for last minute travel are approximately the same as the California Super Lotto. And so, over the years, I’ve adopted the practice of locking in my vacation nine months in advance. Santa Claus is still pulling his boots off up in the North Pole while I’m securing my sitter’s services for ten days in the fall. I’ll have no idea where I’m going or what I’ll be doing, but I’ve got the time reserved.

In what can only be viewed as an act of terrific selfishness, she is moving to Portugal in June. To be fair, she is the longtime partner of one of my best friends and the two of them bought a house over there and are just now entering the final months of their California chapter. They did not take my dog sitting needs into account.

And so she reached out to me this week to advise that she has just two open weeks between now and her move. I responded the only way I could - by randomly taking a six-day window for which I have no plans. She’ll show up Wednesday morning and by then, I’ll already be gone to wherever I’m going, and I’ll return on Monday.

It’s an enviable problem by any stretch - six days to go pretty much anywhere. Loads of domestic and international destinations jumping to the fore. I feel compelled to go somewhere I’ve yet to visit — just snag a flight and a hotel and go from there. TBD.