The Dog Blog with Kathryn Socie

Yes, You Can Take the Dog Thing Too Seriously

By Kathryn Socie, 12-10-09

	Photo Credit: Dan Socie

I find myself dog-sitting less and less these days in part because I’ve become a bit of a stickler for my own time, wanting more of it, sharing less of it; taking on others’ responsibilities less frequently in an effort to enjoy my own.  Yet, there are a few cases where I just can’t help but step-in. Primarily, the tough cases: young puppies, aging dogs, sick dogs, dogs just having undergone surgery and a few good friend’s dogs that will always be welcome in my house no matter the circumstance.  Reflecting on that sentence, it really doesn’t sound like I’ve cut back much, but instead of having a steady stream of four-legged interlopers, I’m suddenly down to a once or twice-a-month visitor. 

Completely selfish, I know. 

Recently, when the occasion arose to take care of a good friend’s special-needs dog came up, I was compelled to take on the task.  Even more rare for me these days will I go to someone’s house to dog sit since I’ve almost completely nixed that bad habit as I was too often never home and roaming like a vagabond, paying rent for furniture storage and getting paid too little to justify any of it.  But, this was the rare circumstance I am willing to stretch for.

I had agreed to take care of my friend’s lovely 14 year-old ill, crabby, incontinent, Shepherd because the medication list alone was too much for the average person to comprehend and, well, this dog was balanced so precariously on the cusp of life and death she required something more than placing a bowl of food on the floor and someone to open the door for her; she deserved a little senior canine love. 

Along with the old gal, I had signed-up to look after her young, exuberant, super-charged Shepherd pal and their much maligned, trash-eating, carcass-rolling golden retriever, belonging to my friend’s husband. Sweet, handsome and for the most part mentally vacuous, this golden regularly finished off a meal in record time only to race outside to munch on processed seconds, cleaning the yard before the other dogs even had a chance to make a contribution.  Apparently a hunting champ, this golden is as foul as he is a stunning specimen of his breed.

I arrived in the evening to feed, medicate and spend time with this crew, mixing them with mine first and making sure all recalled the mandate for peace.  Then I took to the task of lining up all the medications, supplements and food, going down the list, checking them off, making sure I had everything.  Prednisone. Check. Deramaxx. Check.  A scoop of this or that. Check.  The list was long for the old lady and equally as involved for the punk youngster.  Focused on getting it all lined up, I then got to the golden.  The instructions for him were, simply:

“A cup of water and nothing but contempt.”

Being the extra-vigilant dog sitter, I began looking for the “contempt” thinking it was the name of some groovy, high-end supplement or something, and that he was clearly on some special diet-- every other dog in that house seemed to be. 

I looked in the cabinet with the other dog supplements.  Nope.  I looked in the fridge, thinking it was perishable.  Nope. I looked next to the dog food.  Nope.

It wasn’t until I said out loud: “OK dogs, where the hell do these people keep the contempt?” that it occurred to me I was being just a tad too literal, taking this whole dog thing a bit too seriously.

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