The Dog Blog with Kathryn Socie

When a Six Pack is too much and Seven is Enough

By Kathryn Socie, 6-02-08

	Photo credit: Dan Socie

As a certified sucker, I dog sit.  A lot.  Entirely too much in fact.  Rarely am I able to say no to someone, too often I openly offer my services unsolicited.  For several years running I have celebrated every major holiday with a gaggle of mutts, I’ve taken vacations with an interloper or two and a few have hung around for months at a time.  With a calendar packed with dog engagements, I can pretty much handle any kind of crowd.  This weekend’s was an epic seven.

Crazy as I may be, I wouldn’t attempt to cram this much dirt and hair into my 400 sq. ft. apartment, so I agreed to spend a weekend in the shadow of the Mission mountains in the Flathead valley, at the lovely, spacious, home of a friend, the owner of 3 participants of this weekend’s rager.  With many fenced-in acres available and dog door access to it all, this was the perfect set up for the insanity that would ensue. 

One wild juvenile delinquent with a totally delightful 3-second attention span spent the entire two days literally latched on to (by any means possible) an only slightly older lanky pup who, prior to meeting said delinquent, I thought had the most out-of control energy level I had ever witnessed.  Apparently, dragging around a 60-lb parasite and being rolled periodically for hours, non-stop, was enough to drain energizer dog into a comatose state. After but a few moments of shut-eye, however, he would be jostled back to life by the delinquent incessantly humping his head. 

The geriatric ward consisted of two 14 year-old shepherds, both semi-retired from a lifetime of militance.  Each took turns patrolling the other dogs, barking vehemently at them as they moved, drank water, blinked.  All fun being had, including the head humping, was heavily policed.  Fortunately, very little weight was capably thrown around, considering both teetered on their arthritic limbs and might literally tip over at the first sign of a fight.  Often times barking and policing was mysteriously aimed at an empty corner of the house, which I chalked up to their near blindness and stone deafness.  I was desperate for one of those days of the week pill dispensers to keep their medications straight.

As for my two, despite the property being surrounded by cows on all sides, my normally bovine-crazed dogs sat stunned by the whole scene-- I had finally gone off the deep end and they weren’t entirely sure what was going to happen to them.  They clung to my every move, following me the 10 meters from couch to refrigerator, crawling under the sink in the laundry room to get a better vantage point while I washed bedding soaked by one of the leaky geriatrics.  I felt I was being scrutinized, like a mom who has a cocktail every now and again, but this time was out on a drunken bender and the kids were worried.  Seriously worried.  Every now and again they would run out and stalk the cows, slowly, creeping, heads slung low, only to realize they had lost track of me for a moment and would race back into the house.

Buried in the background among the rambunctious youngsters, the crabby elderly and the clingy cow dogs, was a most sensible, unflappable, totally amenable golden retriever.  This dog was phased by nothing.  In the midst of a brewing storm the golden sat, looking regal, head to the wind, blowing his luxurious red mane back.  He sauntered about, following the crew of knuckleheads, but at a slight distance, occasionally stopping, staring off into the distance, and posing.  Looking cool.  Being cool. 

On top of it all, prior to my arrival there was a dog food bin break-in and several pounds consumed willy-nilly, which resulted in toxic gas emanating from the worst culprits all night combined with, no surprise, a lot of traffic in and out of the dog door.  Somewhere around 1 a.m. something was spotted in the furthest pasture, prompting the knucklehead cadre to alarm.  Somewhere around 3 a.m. I was still staring at the ceiling wondering if it was really hot in the room or if the temperature had suddenly elevated rapidly as a result of the seven panting, gassy, dogs.  Somewhere around 5 a.m. I just decided to get up and enjoy the sunrise. The second night followed a similar course, thankfully sans toxic fumes.

We survived and though I feel like I really was on a bender all weekend, my worried dogs’ fears finally subsided as we pulled into the driveway, back home, just the three of us. For a little while anyway. 

Like this story? Get more! Sign up for our free newsletters.