Adventures in puppysitting

When my brilliant but slightly scatterbrained friend at work popped into my office this afternoon and asked if I had a key to her house, I told her sure, but it was out in my car; I sort of assumed she'd locked hers into her house and wanted to borrow mine to get herself in. I suggested that she could drive me to her car (she parks right behind our building; I park a couple of blocks away) to get it.

We had just gotten out of a lunch meeting, and I was firing up my computer to start my afternoon, but a delay to go get her key would be no problem. As we headed toward the parking lot, BSB launched happily into an explanation of the steps she takes to care for her two new puppies at lunchtime, and I thought she was on her way home to do all that. She mentioned briefly that she needed to be in her office shortly to meet with the luncheon speaker, so I assumed she wanted me to go with her to help her get into the house, care for two puppies, and get back to her meeting.

We piled into her car when it hit her: She didn't need me to get her a key; she needed me to go care for the puppies so she could stay on campus for her meeting. And I didn't really need to go to my car; she had a garage door opener that would get me into the house, and she didn't mind letting me drive her car. I shifted into the passenger seat and started the car (which is new enough that the "key" only has to be in the car to start it), shifted into gear, and stalled. The engine kept going, but the vehicle didn't budge. BSB realized what was going on: She had set the parking break and I hadn't released it. I realized I didn't have pockets, so I didn't have my cell phone on me in case anything else went wrong.

She came back and showed me how to release the break, pointed to the radar detector and said something I didn't catch, and headed back to her office. I bravely maneuvered her classy vehicle out of the parking lot and safely to her house a couple of miles away and reached for the garage opener.

Only I couldn't find it. I have two options for mine: a clip-on device that lives on the visor or a key-fob device I use when I drive my son's car. Hers didn't have either of those. I was sure she had an opener; I just couldn't find it anywhere on the the visor, the instrument panel, the console, or the headliner. Stuck in the street without my cell phone (her driveway is being repaved, so I couldn't pull into it), I hunted for buttons all over the radar detector, all to no avail. I finally found a row of little house-like icons along the bottom of the rear view mirror, so I systematically pushed each of those—to no avail.

Not quite ready to give up, I backed up the car, circled the cul de sac, and took one more shot at the buttons, pushing the first one down as soon as the car started to point to the house and holding it until, low and behold, the door started to open. I pointed the car into a space between mailboxes on the cul de sac and headed in to the dogs.

They seemed happy enough to see me, although they'd never seen me before and probably wouldn't have remembered me if they had. I snatched them out of their wire kennels and zipped to the backyard so they could potty, then sat down on the deck to watch them play. The boy puppy was the first to find a toy, but the girl was the first to run off with one. As soon as she did, he took off after her, and I distracted him by squeaking and tossing another toy for him to chase. My puppy at home is a couple of years old now, and I enjoyed watching these babies tumble over themselves and each other.

Knowing I had work waiting at the office, I let them play for several minutes then scooped them up to go inside to eat. BSB had told me she was in the habit of hand-feeding them, but I had learned that her previous "hand-fed" dogs ate just fine for me if I scattered their food on the floor; that worked pretty well for these babies, too. I found one puppy dish and then another, and as I dropped a couple of handfuls of food into each dish, they happily ate until they seemed full.

While they were eating, BSB's cat (who has not quite decided what to make of these puppies and who usually doesn't hang around the house when I am there alone) showed up at the glass door between the sunroom and the kitchen, where the puppies were eating. I twisted the knob just enough to let her in and slipped out of her way. She eased in far enough to stretch out just inside the door and observe the munching.

Girl puppy had brought a little squid-shaped squeaky toy into the kitchen with her, and when she finished eating, she picked it up and headed for the door. Where the cat was. Since these animals have not quite made their peace, the cat backed into a sitting position, almost daring GP to try for the door.

GP tried once, then twice, to push through the door, each time rebuffed by the cat, who gazed at her as if to say, "Surely you don't think you're coming through."

The third time, GP determinedly turned her head away from the cat, who gave in, turned her head the other way, and slithered into the kitchen. Boy puppy, who had been observing this interchange, realized that the cat was out of the way, GP had made it into the sunroom, and GP had a toy. He bounded out to her and, realizing she wasn't about to give up the toy, sat on her face.

I had located a water bowl, convinced them both to come back for a drink, then led them back through the sunroom for one more chance to potty before I left. Since they need to learn to use the doggy doors, I slipped outside first, held open the flap, and encouraged them to tumble through. They followed me out into the yard, romped and played and took care of business, and followed me back onto the deck. I squatted by the doggie door, opened the flap, and pushed them back inside.

I rounded up a handful of puppy treats and headed back to the kennels. A coupe of treats in GP's kennel had her inside in a flash, with BP hot on her heels. I backed him out, tossed treats into his kennel, and pointed him in. He somehow managed to bounce a treat outside his kennel, but I scooped it up and pushed him in after it.

I did much better at getting the car started, but I somehow clipped the curb on my way back out of the cul de sac. No apparent damage, but I think next time I'll drive my own car, even if it means I have to operate locks with ordinary keys.

And I'm wondering if I'll get a chance someday to own a tiny little Schnauzer.