The Dog Sitter

That Little Voice

It’s off to new destinations in Mexico for a few days, and my doglets are delighted.

They start celebrating the moment the suitcases come out of the closet. While I stand there mentally planning my trip, “Two pairs of jeans or just one? Do I need three T-shirts or four? Better toss in a sweatshirt — mountains are chilly — and what about shoes?” — they sit at the edge of the bed, practically vibrating with glee.

They are not impressed with my packing process. Their eyes say, Lady, stop deliberating over socks. Just zip the bag and go already.

And no, they aren’t going with me. That’s the source of their joy — not despair. Their excitement is because my departure signals the arrival of their favorite houseguest: the Dog Sitter.

This is no ordinary sitter. She walks them more than I do, plays with them more than I do, and hands out treats like they’re free samples at Costco. She is the fun-loving grandparent they always dreamed of — no rules, no limits, no bedtime.

Do I take it personally? Not really. Okay, maybe just a little. My ego takes a hit knowing my absence is greeted not with tears, but with tail wags and a doggy conga line to the door.

And I know what happens while I’m gone: Endless belly rubs, contraband snacks, late-night TV snuggles. Meanwhile, the sitter’s own dogs are probably home sending out sad telegrams: Send treats. Mom is cheating on us.

When I return, my doglets greet me with great joy — but it’s nothing compared to the look of sheer relief on the sitter’s face. She has survived three days of being used as a canine mattress. Her hips may never be the same.

But I smile, because I know that within ten minutes I’ll have reclaimed my rightful place as the full-time playmate, treat dispenser, chauffeur, and 24/7 on-call human.

What a life my doglets enjoy. Honestly, I’m just lucky they let me live here.