Twisting My Reality: 9 Stops on Loony Street

  A brief chronicle of nine rare but stranger things that have come with operating an in-home petcare business

STOP ONE: Afghans Howling in a Tornado Siren

STOP TWO: The Coyote Killer in a Snowstorm

STOP THREE: An Unfortunate Sequence of Events

STOP FOUR: When the Dog Pooped the Carpet, the Relationship Hit the Fan

STOP FIVE: Cats Do the Darndest Things

STOP SIX: The Death of Stormy

STOP SEVEN: Yes, He Literally Picked up the Dog and Threw Him

STOP EIGHT: Billy The Kid vs Animal Control

STOP NINE: People Are Everywhere Walking in Plain Daylight Saying Shite

Somewhat akin to some cultures having a long-standing tradition of having a nanny to tend to your child, the petcare business over the past 20 years has erupted into a huge industry: hiring someone to tend to your non-human kids. These kids are typically cats and dogs but can be any creature that lives in the house. The human facet of these clients often doesn’t have human kids, though many do. The job, the mission, of petcare is often more than just tending to the immediate needs of the cats and dogs, et al. It entails the creation of a bond between the pet-caretaker and the animals and their humans. Sometimes it entails being a therapist for the humans. We witness a ton of loving relationships and a fair amount of heartbreak (the average lifespan of a cat or dog is far shorter than that of the average human; loss comes with the territory of being a pet owner).

Occasionally, we see some truly bizarre events.

In the early years of operating Front Range Pet Care, LLC, in Boulder County, Colorado, U.S., Planet Earth, I worried. A lot. I was being entrusted with the safety of these lovely creatures, these living treasures that humans lived with. I obsessed with what could go wrong. And a lot could go wrong. Luckily, over 15 years later nothing has gone wrong due to my ineptitude. I like to think I’m lucky. I like to think that “worry” actually provides a service of being detailed and careful. Still, at the end of the day, I feel lucky. I get to engage with so many pets and their humans.

However, despite being lucky, I have been witness to some strange, freaky, absurd, rude weird, and outrageous events while operating this petcare business. As anyone who has ever worked in the service industry (or driven in busy traffic) knows, there are some outlandish people and events that will cross your path.

You will be tested!

The following nine events, or brief stops on Looney Street as I think of them, have rolled over me. Some waves hit me directly; some I was just a direct witness to. I like to think they’ve made me a wiser and more conscientious and careful person. A couple I’m still pondering. In order, from the earliest days of the petcare business to the most recent, here are the 9 events (and trust me, there are more than 9) that have tested my perception of reality:

First Stop: Afghans Howling in a Tornado Siren

Tornadoes rarely land in Boulder County, Colorado.  But step over the county line just to the east headed towards the Great Plains, and you are on your way to Tornado Alley.

One of my earliest gigs with my petcare business was to tend to 8 large Afghan dogs. The ramshackle house just east of Boulder County was a 30-minute drive from my house (today the service area has been honed to no more than 12 minutes from Lafayette central). My client said she was a dog breeder from Texas. She bred Afghans (a shaggier, perhaps more intelligent version of a Greyhound). I assumed this business had seen better days. My job was to release them individually one by one to “potty” in the dirt lot that was the back yard and then return to crate for food and water where they would reside for 8 hours until my return.

With the tornado sirens blaring and all the hounds chiming in, I walked in for my first visit at dusk feeling quite on edge. The few lights in the house all seemed to be 25-watt bulbs throwing more shadows than light.

Time Stood Still: Dark sky, howling sirens; dimly lit rooms filled with howling  Afghan hounds. How could this possibly work!? I froze.

I shook it off. I had a job to do. The sirens stopped. The howling went silent. One by one I let them out: potty and food, potty and food, potty and food. These big, strange, and wonderful dogs followed some script. 30 minutes later and they were all tended. I drove home in the parting clouds and waning sun. It worked. The ethics of housing so many dogs in such a manner was taking a backseat to their unflinching cooperation. I was feeling optimistic. Now all I needed was a LOT more clients!

Second Stop: The Coyote Killer in A Snowstorm

I first met Nikki on a sunny fall day. A long dirt road brought me to a small circular driveway in front of a lovely ranch-style house on the edge of a 20-acre plot. Many of these former farms have disappeared in Boulder County, but some remain in a somewhat odd juxtaposition to the exploding sprawl of houses. Not really farms, they seem like really big yards!

As I pulled up to the house, a big white “wolf” bounded up and stuck her head in my open window: Hello!

Nikki is a Great Pyrenees, a dog originally bred in France and Spain to protect sheep from wolves and bears. I’ve now met a handful of Great Pyrenees. They’ve all been energetic and friendly and sweet. And large. Nikki’s human told me that Nikki is quite friendly and obedient. Unless she spots a coyote. In fact, she explained (and I swear I saw a glint in her eye), Nikki just 2 weeks ago had drowned a coyote in the “crick.”

My job was to take Nikki out as needed and walk the perimeter of the 20 acres. Always without a leash. Nikki had never been on leash. It was a peaceful and simple gig. Nikki would always return to me at the sound of a whistle and the shake of a treat bag.

Then one spring day we went out in a snowstorm blowing in hard from the north directly in my face. Nikki trotted off as usual, white on white today.

I quickly lost sight of her. She wasn’t answering my whistle, which I assumed was quickly muted by the howling wind.

Then I heard barking. Nikki rarely barks. When I arrived at the farthest edge of the property, the scene unfolded. The northern edge of the property is marked by a deep ravine heavily cluttered with large tree branches and, today, deep snow. Nikki was far down in the tangled ravine barking and digging ferociously. Her white snout was black with dirt. She was clearly beyond my command.

Time Stood Still: This was clearly a coyote den. What will explode out of there when she breaks through!? Yes, I know Nikki is the “Coyote Killer,” but threaten a mama coyote and the rules of the game could easily be flipped! I froze.

Then I started picking up the largest branches I could find, hurling them down at Nikki to try to break the trance, her genetic predisposition.  I waded crotch-deep in the snow further down the ravine, the silence of the snow-muffled landscape pierced only by sharp barks; the den remained silent. There was no doubt that this den was inhabited; Nikki knows her stuff! For some reason I’ll likely never know, Nikki suddenly stopped and looked at me for a moment. The trance was broken. She ran up to me and I was able to make use of the leash I always carried but never used.

The BxW Nikki and I made the long walk back to the house; she seemed almost relieved not to have to follow the script of her genetic programming.

Third Stop: An Unfortunate Sequence of Events

James Vogel called me on a late afternoon in September. I had known him for a couple years—a one-cat and 3-birds client. A somewhat quirky but nice guy, he lived alone in a rather messy (especially due to the free-range lifestyle of the bird trio flitting and pooping about) townhome in Lafayette, Colorado. James was retired and enjoyed riding his bike around town. That September phone call came from the hospital. He had fallen off his bike and hit his head, he said in a very clear and normal voice. He said he had contacted his adult daughter and was hoping I could meet her there to check on things.

I met with Anna that afternoon. She arrived before me. When I walked in she told me that the cat had killed one of the lovebirds. I hadn’t been there in a long while, but when I looked down at the unashamed cat, I muttered: That’s not Scotty. Indeed, it was not. Scotty had passed away and there was a new cat: Rambeau. James had left Rambeau home alone with 3 free-range birds. Cats tend to kill birds. Scotty wouldn’t; but Scotty was an exception. James! What were you thinking!? And this happened before you hit your head.

Anna said she closed off the upstairs so the birds would be safe. Anna texted me the next day to say she had stopped by and found that the second lovebird had died; she didn’t know why since she had secured the upstairs to keep Rambeau out. She let her dad know. Anna was a kind and smart person and we were trying to assess the situation: 2 dead lovebirds; a parrot who apparently spent a lot of time riding about on James’ shoulder and could probably readily defend himself against this new cat; the cat, Rambeau, doing what cats do (but something Scotty would never do!); and James in the hospital with an undetermined head injury. It felt to me like a family matter, and Anna had taken the reins.

The next day I got an email from James (he never texted; email and phone only).

Time Stood Still: I read the email again:

I was wondering, Andrew, if you have any sad feeling for the death of the two birds that I left with you to take care of. So far you have been silent on what took me four days to really get over. One bird, Reason, was attacked by my cat while the other bird, Miles, had so much stress that he died listening to Reason’s cries for help.

-James

This was personal. I was able to shake it off in part due to the fact that James had some head trauma and seemed very emotional. I was able to shake it off, in part, because I’m aware that accidents happen. I’m aware that in big part my job description entails comforting the humans too. But this all felt like a family matter; I was assisting his daughter. Clearly, the birds died due to James’ miscalculation (pre- head injury). I never received payment for my time, nor did I pursue payment.

Stuff happens; blame isn’t always a satisfying option.

I did email James back after his email, offering more condolences and what felt like a rational explanation of events. I don’t think rational explanations were being accepted and I’ve never heard from James since.

Fourth Stop: When the Dog Pooped the Carpet, The Relationship Hit the Fan!

My responsibilities are not always clearly defined, and I try to go above and beyond for clients. This one, however, was an exception.

When living with cats and dogs (not to mention baby humans and spouses, etc.), things can get messy, sometimes really messy. I had known Angel (big Border Collie; I’ve changed the name here to protect the innocent as well as the guilty) for years, and I had gotten to know her human as well. Angel was getting old, and unbeknownst to me, the favorable tide in this client relationship was about to change quickly.

Angel was on my schedule to visit multiple times per day over the course of 5 days. At my first visit I walked in to see a box sitting on the stairs, pushed to the side. Angel was not downstairs as I had been told was the plan. With a sudden onset of old-age, Angel had started pooping in the house. Her preferred place was not on the tile downstairs (which would be an easy cleanup!), but upstairs where she could find some carpeting. The box sitting askew on the stairs told me right away that big Angel had gone up to use the bathroom. And boy did she! Poop all over the kitchen tile and the carpet in the living room. Not too often, but I had seen this sort of incident before with other dogs. Remember: things happen! I did my best to clean up. The tile was within reach; the carpet was beyond my expertise! I let the human know the situation. I found a large and very heavy box in the garage and made a the new “gate.” But it was too late. Angel could no longer go upstairs and poop around, but the tide had turned.

4 days later the human returned home. I got a text.

Time Stood Still: How much do I owe you? We will split the bill for carpet cleaning, and I’ll subtract from payment.  I read the text again.

Time didn’t stand still for long. I barely hesitated or felt the need to ponder the situation. I had clarity and responded immediately: I’m sorry about the carpet, but here’s the bill with no additional charge for the poop I did clean up, and no subtraction for any professional carpet cleaning you may need. And, I can no longer consider you a client. I will get you your key this afternoon.  The next day I got her response via text: And I will charge you a fee for leaving me in the lurch trying to find another petsitter for another trip the end of the month. I told her I was sorry, and texted my same original bill.

Two months later she sent payment, minus $5...This still haunts me. I have never “fired” a client before or since. I sometimes review it all in my mind to try to find some lessons. I can’t come up with much. Things happen?! Perhaps I should have tried to clarify the “obvious” to her. Any other client would be apologizing to me for having to deal with it all.

In hindsight, my snap reaction to fire the client was supported by numerous slightly irrational conversations that my “lizard brain” had picked up on over that past year, the sort of conversations I can typically ignore and not take personally. In hardly a blink, the “poop conversation” alerted me to some danger to my petcare business itself. What would happen if Angel died on my watch and the human had a similar reaction of “blame?”

Fifth Stop: Cats Do the Darndest Things

Taika and Kiko. A couple of lovely Bengal cats. They never cause trouble in the house when their humans are away nor with me on my 2 daily visits.

It isn’t always, but it can get very cold in January in Boulder County. This was one of those events when temperatures would plummet well below zero, with daytime high still below zero. The humans asked that I leave the kitchen sink faucet on to drip—a common request when it’s this cold and no one will be home. The notion is that leaving water on a very slow drip is sufficient to keep just enough motion in the pipes to keep the water from freezing and the bursting of a water pipe.

A simple request. This house is very well kept and orderly. No objects near the sink but a stopper resting on a raised window sill. What could go wrong!?

When I walked in the next morning of my second day, the scene made no sense.

Time Stood Still: I stared. The water level in the sink was counter height, steadily flowing over the edge of the countertop onto the wooden floor seemingly faster than a single drip should be able to provide. The kitchen was under half an inch of water. It was a very slow drip of water I’d left on.

So, I snapped to and waded into it. That stopper was wedged upside down and hard into the single drain of the large sink. It was a bit of a struggle to unplug it. The water quickly whooshed down. It was just a drip, a very slow drip!

The floors were wrecked and would need replacing. Who’s to blame? Me? The cats? The homeowners for making the request? Lucky for me, the humans recognized the absurd chance of the situation. Their homeowner’s insurance would replace the floors.

Lesson learned for me: Things happen! Always try to second-guess the shenanigans of cats!! But, still, things happen! “Blame” has little or no function in this situation. And I certainly have an appreciation for these smart and rational humans.

  Sixth Stop: The Death of Stormy

The morning of New Year’s Day. I can’t think of a quieter morning on any day of the year. Her name was Stormy, but I didn’t even know her name when I found her. A young cat, she would tag along with a couple of the older cats, Beachie and Surf, while I tended the birds and assorted reptiles in this well-tended house I’ve dubbed “the zoo” (not because it’s chaotic, but due to the large assortment of animals). My only take on Stormy was sweet and innocent.

On this New Year’s Day morning I walked in to see 3 of the 5 cats perched on the kitchen counter looking down at something out of my view. When I rounded the corner into the kitchen, I saw that sweet, innocent one on her back, eyes wide open.

Time Stood Still: For a very long moment the silence was deafening. I was shocked and confused. Listening for an intruder, even the house birds were silent. I was totally focused on the moment and those upside-down wide eyes frozen in time. Stormy had clearly died, but why!?

Time resumed its ticking, slowly. I gathered sweet Stormy in a blanket and took her to the vet hoping for a quick explanation. None came. All I knew was that she was young and this didn’t make sense. Her humans were on a boat diving in the Pacific Ocean, out of reach for another 3 days.

This was the third time in 15 years of petcare (having seen hundreds of cats) that I’d witnessed a cat’s demise. Prior to Stormy, one was very old, the other had cancer.

There’s no happy ending here. Stuff happens. The only conclusion from the vet was that Stormy had a heart attack. It can happen, I’m told, even to young cats without warning.

I choose to believe that Stormy had a short and happy life!

Seventh Stop: Yes, He literally Picked up the Dog and Threw it!

A large percentage of the dogs we see/ walk in this petcare business have leash aggression/ anxiety issues. And that includes the two I was with, walking on this beautiful spring day in a large neighborhood park in Louisville, Colorado. The park is flanked by woods on one side and a grassy open space on the other. Kaya and Fiona have issues of their own (but ultimately two very sweet pups). I know them well and know how to detour potential trouble. Today, the three of us would be observers, stopped in our tracks watching an absurd scene unfold.

Kaya and Fiona and I passed a 30-something year old man with a dog, and a toddler in a stroller. They soon came up behind us and we stepped into the woods to let them pass. Then we continued. Coming towards them were two women with a dog. They stepped off the path so man with stroller and dog could pass. Then the prong collar on the women’s dog failed. Their dog rushed to give what looked like an exuberant Hello to the dog with man and stroller. Man spun around and grabbed the oncoming dog.

Time Stood Still: He lifted that incoming pup in the air and threw him on the ground. Then the man assumed a comical fighter pose. The woman rushed up sliding on her knees, cutting her knee, to grab her dog. She was apologizing: Sorry the leash broke! Still in fighter pose, he was yelling. GET A FUCKING LEASH THAT WORKS. And then again. Standing over her: YOU COPY? DO YOU COPY? The women, as well as Kaya and Fiona and I were dumbstruck.

A mere 30 seconds after the incident began, time resumed. The man departed. As the women approached us, I assured them if it’s any consolation, none of that was their fault. That was insane. Then later I started to get angry myself. If that had been my dog Billy (90-pound Kaya would have been safe from that Big Time wrestling move!), what would I have done? So, to sum up, I informed my client: “you have a crazy man in your neighborhood.” Most likely a veteran with severe PTSD.

Lesson learned: None yet! Things happen. You will be tested.

Eighth Stop: Billy The Kid vs Animal Control

As I stood in the hills south of the Arno River in Florence, Italy, I was finally able to get cell reception and retrieve a message that I was hoping might be on my phone. “We have Billy, Billy the Kid,” the kind voice said, clearly reading from the tag on his collar. “You can come pick him up any time.” My dread suddenly turned to relief and joy. Little did I know that my joy would soon turn to frustration and confusion, and a bit of anger. Animal Control—the po-po—would soon be involved.

My Billy is a fence climber and a runner. He’s built for it; it’s in his veins. A pitbull head stuck on an over-muscled Greyhound-like body. A lean and muscular dog. Despite my fortifications of a large back yard, he has found a way over the fence before, but typically just hops backyard to backyard (getting more energized with each fence climb!) until I can track him down. This morning, while I was in Italy, he broke free of the neighborhood (most likely unintentionally) and wound up sprinting down the local Highway 287.

Luckily, a local vet who works in a nearby town happened to spot Billy racing in the rain. She pulled over, opened her car door for The Kid and of course he hopped right in; he loves people and he especially loves dogs. She drove him to her vet clinic in a nearby town. They offered Billy a bowl of kibble. He gobbled it down like he hadn’t eaten in days they declared. He looks emaciated they declared and decided Animal Control needed to be involved for the “abused” dog.

Animal Control, an agency I know very little about, was suddenly involved. “This dog needs to gain 5 pounds…”

Time stood still: “Comply, or we will take him away from you.” Those are fighting words. I quickly decided to fly under the wire and “comply.” Even our young vet seemed afraid to challenge Animal Control, simply saying I’m so sorry you have to go through this; Let’s just make sure we stop at 5 pounds, don’t want to rename him Fat Boy Billy!

Time resumed and 6 weeks later, a plumper Billy convinced Animal Control to go away.

However, I haven’t let the matter go completely. A few major points where Animal Control ran afoul (and as a good citizen, I should diplomatically state it to the agency one day):

1.  An “emaciated” dog would not have the energy nor the desire to be running down the highway.

2. Most any dog would gobble a bowl of kibble day or night if presented.

3. Most dogs in our pampered society are in fact overweight; I can’t imagine Animal Control making threats because someone’s dog is “fat.”

4. And, perhaps most disturbing: Animal Control threatened to “take Billy away” if we didn’t comply, before one iota of investigating.

I’m still reserving any universal judgement on Animal Control until I’ve done some detailed research, which I have not yet done. In my view, this was clearly a bad assessment and poor manners as a matter of protocol. I still believe that the agency must provide a worthwhile service in providing safety for the community (of humans). And I have wondered if perhaps I should have challenged their decision process. I have a notion that I still will someday, with the confidence that Billy the Kid is beyond their reach!

Ninth Stop: People are Everywhere Walking in Plain Daylight Saying Stupid Shite

“Hey, I saw what you did. It’s disgusting!” As I departed the lake trail that day with a pair of Golden Retrievers I’ve known for years, I felt those words bounce off the back of my head. The 3 of us stopped, turned 180 degrees back toward the lake and scanned the busy trail of walkers, landing on a man waving at us with an empty dog-poop bag above his head. We stared back, the dogs wondering if this was perhaps an invitation to play. I was baffled. Again, the refrain: “I saw what you did. I have poop bags if you need. That is diss-cuss-ting!”

With both pups pulling the leases taut toward the screamer, I stared and called back: “Come here.” I certainly wasn’t looking for a fight, but the echo of my words certainly had that ring of a challenge. “Come here,” I repeated as it was dawning on me that I was being accused of not picking up dog poop from dogs I was responsible for. A cardinal sin in my business! And I was being publicly accused and convicted without a trial. “Come here,” I shouted more forcefully. “Nah,” he waved an empty poop bag dismissively. “Next time,” he shouted, disappearing into the crowd of walkers, “use a poop bag. That’s diss-GUS-ting.”

That interaction haunted me for the afternoon.

3 hours later:

Time Stood Still: Ahhh… He’s a nut, off his rocker, loopy. It took me 3 hours to realize what I should have realized in the moment. I’ll never know what he thinks he saw (perhaps something so vile and disgusting that he just had to call it out), but there was nothing! The fact that it took me 3 hours to realize the absurdity of the accuser beyond the apparent accusation, gave me cause for pause.

People are everywhere walking around in plain daylight saying stupid shite.

One thing I’ve arrived at in my outlook on life is that as much as we want to reduce situations and behaviors of others into simple categories—kind, rude, mean, generous, smart, stupid—those categories never hold up in varying situations. Things are complicated! Sometimes “blame” performs a function (let’s make sure that doesn’t ever happen again!). Sometimes you have to shrug with the understanding the sometimes “things just happen.” Every situation is unique. Everyone has a point of view, a perch from which they view the world. It may sound wishy-washy—and it’s certainly easier to just throw people and creatures and situations into a single category and walk away—but life is messy and complicated far beyond what our words and categories can embrace. I’m a big fan of “words” but I’m increasingly aware of their shortcomings.

  Enter: Dogs and Cats! And maybe sit and listen to the trees for a while.

So, I try to practice kindness with the understanding that it can be a struggle. Sometimes it seems easier and more satisfying to call someone an “idiot” and walk away; but I can’t help but believe that empathy and generosity are better for us all, as individuals and as a society.

Man, that’s heavy stuff!

And, finally, one core reason why I love to work out thoughts and events through writing is this Aha! moment:

All 9 Stops on Freaky Street, while throwing a twist into what seems like “normal’ reality, throw up a question: What is transpiring in this precise moment? The chitter chatter of the brain pauses while all focus is on the moment (albeit a moment of confusion for the sake of this discussion). The “twist” itself actually places me quite present in a moment. My brain isn’t wandering. It’s fixated.

It would be exhausting to always be in the moment. But it seems like a really good place to dwell once in a while, even when it’s “bad.” And to be clear, these “crazy” moments are rare in the day-to-day routine of the petcare business.

Note: Some names as well as some images have been changed to protect the innocent as well as the not-so innocent, as well as me the author. All images are property of Andrew Schmich/Front Range Pet Care LLC.

Andrew and Billy the Kid somewhere

in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, U.S.A., Planet Earth

Why Write; Why Blog

The human race, having separated itself from the intimacies of Nature, has become a lonely, misguided creature. I blog to hone my thoughts, to motivate my exploration. The more I understand the whole of this planet—plants, animals, ecosystems, etc.—the better I understand humans and our ways