Adventures in Babysitting

Yesterday morning, I left my sister's house in approximately the middle-of-nowhere and headed to my brother's house with three small dogs. Jake, almost 9, a pomeranian poodle mix, and Eli and Zeke, two small black schipperkes almost a year old. Some of you may remember that my sister lost her first schipperke, Ben, last summer. And that these dogs are the loves of her life.

So you can imagine how I felt, about forty-five minutes after arriving, when I realized that only one of the three dogs was in the house with Eva and me. She had come in from outside minutes before, setting the dogs to barking. We were trying to keep them quiet because Dillon was napping. I kept fussing at Zeke, as he seemed the most agitated. But then, I realized he was the only one barking.

The other two were gamboling about in the backyard - unleashed. Jake was no problem; he comes when called. But Eli is a runner. After about an hour of chasing him around the house with Eva and me acting the part of the Two Stooges and trying all sorts of useless plans to trap him, Eli made a run for it. And disappeared.

At roughly 12:30, I broke down and called my sister and told her that he was lost. At roughly 12:32, I called my mother and had a hysterical breakdown. All the while, Eva is tromping through backyards with Dillon strapped to her front in the Baby Bjorn, and I'm cruising the neighborhood calling. And calling. And calling.

Finally, at 1:30, I spot him, thanks to a tip from a landscaper. He's crossed the main road and sitting in a yard in the adjacent neighborhood. At first, I'm not sure whether I should believe my eyes. I hadn't had anything to eat or drink all day. But there he was, sitting calmly in the yard, like it was his own. As slowly and calmly as I could, I got out of the Rav and approached him. And he ran. Ran like the devil was after him and vanishes around the corner.

I search another neighborhood. It is 90 degrees. My sister has left work and is on her way. I am nearing an absolute meltdown. Eva calls me and says that the dogs are barking at the front of her neighborhood. I drive back that way, and I see him. He's by a fence on the opposite side of the road. Now, when I was first shopping for the Rav, one of the salesman insisted on demonstrating its turning radius. I was fascinated at the time. But yesterday, I slammed the brakes, turned on a dime, and parked it in the ditch.

Eli chose that moment to go under the fence, but luckily, he took shelter in a fenced in backyard. Moments later my sister arrived. Moments after that, I was wiping the hysterical tears from my grimy face. In my defense, he ran from her a bit when she arrived. Bad dog. Very, very, very bad dog.

Moral of the story: The Dog Whisperer, I am not. I will be striking dog-sitting from my resume and subsequent job search.