"Hey," I thought to myself,"I could go catch a movie. Wait, no, there's something I'm supposed to be doing ... what is it again?" Oh, right.

Dog-sitting.

Technically I was supposed to be pet-sitting, rather than just dog-sitting, since there was a cat involved, too. But cats hardly count. Back when my only pet was a cat, if I was planning on being away from the house for a week or so, I'd crack a window, dump some cat food in a bowl, and leave the toilet seat up. I wasn't worried about someone breaking in and cleaning us out; there wasn't much to steal -- though there was this one time when a homeless person snuck into the house, used the bathroom, and swiped a feather pillow. At least, we're pretty sureit was a homeless person; I mean, really, who else would steal apillow? Anyway, I certainly wasn't worried about the cat. If he ran out of food, there was a whole yard-full of tasty critters: snakes, rabbits, yard gnomes. And if someone tried to steal him? Well, they had no idea how long his claws were.

Cats, birds, fish, giant spiders, lobsters, decorative chickens, chia pets -- these are all easy enough to take care of.

Dogs, though, are problematic. Dogs require all sorts of attention -- worse, they seem to want to give you all sorts of attention, too, not all of it painless. They want to jump up on you, they want to flop on you, they want to wrestle with you, they want you to make them popcorn, they want to choose what show you'll be watching on HBO On Demand. Mostly, they want to lick you. Dogs seem to somehow equate love with slobbering all over your new shoes, or your jeans, or your face -- usually your face.

Okay, okay, I guess slobbering is a fair enough way to express love. Still, not good for the shoes.

I sighed. I'd been looking forward to going to see a movie. Oh well: I'd said I would do it; so I'd do it.  Maybe there'd be something good on HBO On Demand.

When I arrived at my friend's house(pet-sitting doesn't always occur at someone else's house, but it often does -- that way the person in question gets two-for-the-price-of-one: a pet sitter AND a house sitter), I could already hear Bella (that's the dog in question) barking from the rear of the house. She could sense me. Like some sort of slobbery-love attack drone.

I went inside, prepared some dog food, and very cautiously opened the back door.

Ker-PLOOW-Y!

I was jumped by fifty to seven-hundred pounds of affectionate black lab mix. There was also flopping, wrestling, and much, much slobbering (from the dog, not me). After a half-hour of this, however, I was able to get Bella's dog food into her bowl, which distracted her long enough that I was able to wriggle out from under her and make my escape into the kitchen. I knew there'd be doggie treats in the kitchen, and where there are doggie treats, there is at least ten minutes of gnawing on the doggie treats and not gnawing on my leg.

While Bella was busy with those (the treats, not my legs), I found a comfortable spot on the couch in the living room and set about seeing what was on HBO On Demand.

But the dog wasn't going to have any of that. It was obvious to her that I wasn't going to make popcorn. After all, there I was sitting on the couch. Not even use of the Big-Whiny-I'm-a-Spoiled-Pup eyes was going to make me make popcorn.

There was still the remote, though.

Flop!

Right on top of me -- all seven hundred to two thousand pounds of dog-ness. Also right on top of the remote, which I still, foolishly, had in my hand. Click, click,click. The channels went racing by. If it landed on something with Lassie, I was going to give up and call a psychiatrist.

But apparently Bella liked horror movies. "Scream" was on.

Oh well, I thought to myself, might as well make popcorn.

*

The author may be contacted for pet-sitting opportunities at parablehead@yahoo.com