Beware of the dog!

If you wanted more of "The Zoo," have no fear - it will be back. However, this encounter from my 20th sit is definitely one of the most unforgettable experiences of my pet-sitting era. I hope you enjoy it ... and may you never endure the same!

I remember parking out the front of this particular pet sit with a lot of trepidation.

As with my previous 19 sits, I’d ensured that I’d had a “meet & greet” with the animals I would be caring for beforehand. And, like on every such occasion I had as a pet sitter, we’d all gotten on very well.

However, this sit was also unlike any other sit I did.

Everyone else either provided me with a set of keys beforehand or left them in a secure, yet easily accessible, location near the front door. That way, I could enter the house and set up so the animals I was caring for could see me and adjust to me before I had to deal with them in the flesh.

This time, I had to enter the backyard to get the house keys.

So, as I climbed out of my SUV jam-packed with everything I needed for the next nine days, I desperately hoped that the two very solid American Staffies hidden behind the six-foot-high fence would remember me in a good way.

I knew within one second that was not going to be the case!

Now, the photo makes the dynamic duo look rather placid and friendly.

However, as soon as I exited my car and heard one of them growling with more anger than I can describe, I knew that walking blindly through the back gate was going to be more than a challenge. No matter how much I gently spoke their names, one of them snapped and snarled for me to leave.

To be honest, that moment was probably the scariest of my entire time as a pet sitter. And I had a few rippers over the years. However, hearing the menace grow with every step I took toward the gate I could not see behind convinced me that accepting this sit was a very bad idea.

I paused at this potential portal into the netherworld, summoning up my courage.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the longer I waited, the angrier the hound became.

I decided that, rather than taking my entire life into my hands, I would willingly risk one arm. From the angle of the gate, it meant I had to sacrifice my preferred arm. However, better to lose an arm than a neck, right?

As I carefully unlatched the gate, the growling grew even more intense. The burly beast’s rage was palpable.

Intimidating.

Terrifying.

I’m quite sure that I was dropping beads of sweat as my arm cautiously inched through the slimmest of gaps, reaching desperately for where the owners had promised the keys would be hanging.

I was delighted when the only thing connecting with my flesh was the promised set of keys precisely where they were supposed to be.

Of course, the growling didn’t abate.

If anything, it grew even more threatening.

However, I had achieved my immediate goal - stay alive!

Even better, my arm had not been bitten and battered into a bloodied mass.

And now I had the keys to get inside the house so the dogs could see me and, hopefully, get used to me before I had to deal with them in person.

Well, it didn’t take long for both dogs to realise it was all okay for me to be there.

Of course, handing out a few highly valued treats has the amazing ability to turn any killer canine into a tail-wagging, face-licking sycophant faster than a family-sized chocolate bar disappears at a Weight Watchers meeting!

Within seconds, I had gone from threat extraordinaire to Mighty Mike, the Murderous Mutt Master.

I was sure that, from that moment, everything for the next nine days was going to be fajitasmically phantasmagorical.

Man, was I wrong!

And I knew it the very next morning, as soon as I opened the bedroom door.

Something was wrong.

Something was very, very wrong!

As soon as the door had opened a fraction of an inch, I was assaulted with one of the most vicious smells I’ve ever endured.

It was RANK!!!

Now, let me say that these dogs were supposedly so well trained that they would never, ever, ever do a “doo” inside the house.

And the owners had assured me that there was a way to guarantee that.

So, last night, I had done as they’d requested - taken both dogs outside for a late-night “wander” to do what they needed to do.

And then, again as requested by the owners, I had locked both doggos inside the house, confident that they could & would hold anything & everything until the following morning.

And, as I only sleep five to six hours most nights, I was confident that, even if either pooch was “busting to go,” I’d be up before it became a major event.

Well, it turns out that was not the case.

Now, all parents know what a Number 3 is.

I even have one unfortunate friend who was changing his newborn daughter’s nappy many years ago when she let a numero tre go right in his face. He laughed about it later. But, at the time, having to wipe it out of his eyes and spit it out of his mouth was one of those moments when any parent would wonder, “Is this really worth it?”

At that moment of that sit, I would’ve given anything for a human baby’s Number 3.

Unfortunately, this particular “poo explosion” had emanated from a fully grown American Staffie.

Even worse, said doggo had panicked and run through the sticky, fluidy mass to leave the distinct pitter-patter of poo-stained paw prints scattered throughout most of the two large living areas of this very large house.

Not. Happy. Jan!

Looking back, it was hilarious. The dangerous doggos who had freaked me out the day before when I arrived were now the ones running scared, doing whatever they could to avoid the Wrath of the Treat Master.

I could tell from the panicked gazes of their now-bulging eyes.

They knew.

The one that giveth the treats is also the one that can taketh the treats away!

Thankfully, after an hour or so of gagging & running outside for fresh air after another two or three swipes of the mop, I had no more such problems with said doggos over the next few days.

Of course, they weren’t completely finished with disrupting my life in other ways.

However, that story is for another day.

Thanks for reading my post. However, as I am not a mind-reader, I need you to click the heart-shaped LIKE button to let me know that you enjoyed this post and would like more posts like this. And please leave a comment if you can relate to this post in any way - I'd love to know that I am not alone in such an unforgettable experience.