Tired Dog = Happy Dog

After adopting Elvis in 2002, I wanted to make sure that my boy, an "only dog," wasn't lacking for canine companionship. And so, twice a week, en-route to work, I dropped him off at my retired mom's house so he could spend the day romping around with her two dogs. On weekends, if I had a full day planned, I'd take him to hang with Ellen, my friend with two greyhounds, BJ and Champ, and a backyard the size of a Walmart parking lot that I dubbed "Doggie Disneyland." Elvis enjoyed quite the canine social life.

But then I lost my beloved Mom in 2009, and last year Ellen left costly California for a more affordable retirement in South Carolina. And I suddenly found myself without any dog sitters for my new greyhound, Olivia. Oh, I know there are many excellent doggie day-camps and sitting services out there, but I'm not comfortable leaving my girl just anywhere or with just anyone.

Yeah, I'm paranoid. Sue me.

But I am comfortable with fellow-greyhound guardians since they've been already been carefully screened by Golden State Greyhound Adoption (GSGA), not to mention one other simple fact: greyhounds love being with other greyhounds. From the time they're pups at the track greyhounds are packed together in tight proximity with dozens of other hounds. Greyhounds are the only breed they're ever exposed to. The only breed they know. Dogs are pack animals by nature and greyhounds, in particular love being with other greyhounds. All I want is for Olivia to enjoy the same canine companionship that Elvis once did.

This is why I was thrilled when Dean responded to my GSGA listserve email requesting an occasional dog-sitter. Not only does he have a huge backyard and two hounds of his own, but he's minutes from my own home. On Saturday, I had a reunion luncheon planned with former co-workers, so I crossed my fingers and asked Dean if we could do a trial run? Sure, he replied. Yippee!

And so, this morning I took Olivia to his house. Of course, I first had to rattle off reminders to her new sitter, such as, be careful opening the front door! Don't feed her people food! Hide the rat poison! Like the guy has never been around a dog and isn't a designated foster for GSGA. He just smiled and nodded, humoring my "new-mom" paranoia.

She's a good dog, I assured him, listing her attributes like that gal hawking her clients on Millionare MatchMaker. I wanted Dean to like us. I wanted Dean to invite us back. Olivia loves to give kisses, I carried on, plus she's totally house trained and knows how to use the doggie door.

And I swear, the molecules from those very words were still drifting out my mouth and dissipating in the air when Olivia chose that precise moment to urinate on his dog's pillow. Immediately, I saw future invitations evaporating as quickly as my credibility.

But Dean was unfazed. She's just nervous, he said. Happens all the time. And without batting an eye, he unzipped the pillow cover and threw it in the wash. Piece of cake.

When I went to pick up Olivia four hours later, Dean assured me she'd been a good girl and there hadn't been any more accidents (whew). All three hounds got along beautifully and had spent much of the unseasonably hot day using each other as chin-rests and pillows. Then came the music to my ears, the words that any proud mama longs to hear about her child, be they two-legged or four:

She's welcome back anytime.

Tonight Olivia is conked out on her pillow, snoring like an exhausted kid after spending The Best Day Ever at Disneyland. In a way, that's just what she did.

And alleluia, she's welcome back! Because hey, Dean said so.