For The Record, I Eat Dogs
The other night I had a dream (I guess you should call it a nightmare) that I was one of the Kardashian sisters. Not like a Freaky Friday type scenario, where somehow Khloe and I were doing the same thing at the same time in our respective lives, and thanks to some voo-doo spell we magically switched bodies (I tend not to do a lot of similar things as 7 foot 2 millionaires.) More like I was the “normal” daughter from that old TV show The Munsters; I was me, only I was part of their shallow, vapid, hollow eyed train wreck. I was forced to be a part of a family with a reality TV show that made Ozzie Osbourne’s clan seem like a run of the mill family. Think about that.
While this was only a dream, it was horrific, and something that I am grateful to have woken up from. Much like surviving a devastating car accident, or being shot at close range, I feel like this harrowing experience that I survived has caused me to take a step back and appreciate my life more. Food tastes better, flowers smell sweeter, and colors look all the more brighter. What once might have caused me anxiety or frustration, now only causes me to take a deep breath, smile, and thank the good Lord in heaven that my initials aren’t “KK.”
One of these things that I am choosing not to let borrow me, and instead take with a smile, is my new accidental side job that I somehow fell into. It all started about a year ago, when my good friends Katy and Paul asked me to watch their adorable dog Ducky. I have loved Ducky since they got him as a puppy, and Katy and Paul are two of my closest friends, so of course I didn’t hesitate to help them out. I got to hang out with their cute and incredibly fun dog, and I also got cupcakes and a bottle of wine out of it. Not to mention a house to myself to hang out at (I’ve had roommates for the past 8 years, and I prefer to watch ABC family TV shows without judgment, OK?) It was a breeze, and I genuinely enjoyed it. Things went fine for a while, with me watching Ducky every now and then when Katy and Paul would go out of town, which was always fun, and a great chance for me to eat free food and watch cable.
Until my good friends, who I love, did the unspeakable. They told someone else that I loved to watch their pet. Seems innocent right? Just chatting up someone and complimenting me on my love of animals? Wrong. What they did, unbeknown to me at the time, was open Pandora’s box. Much like chanting “Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice” three times in a row will summon a decaying Michael Keaton to your door, saying the words “Emily loves animals” out loud to a fellow pet owner, sends out a signal that permanently and prominently places me on the radar of every person that lives within a 10 mile radius of me who owns an animal and travels. It cannot be undone. I don’t blame Katy and Paul, I honestly don’t think they knew what they were doing.
Within days of their utterance, I was requested to watch a pair of very cute cats at their neighbors house. Great people, wonderful house, cute well behaved cats, no trouble at all. Within weeks of this, somehow another mutual friend heard about my “talents” and asked me to watch their two adorable schnauzers. Good friends, cute dogs, great place, again, no trouble at all. Since I honestly enjoyed both of these pet sitting “jobs”, and would gladly do them again, I didn’t think much of it at this point.
Then…….it started to snowball. Guy at work I don’t really even know comes up to me at a meeting and says that he “heard” things about me. That I watch dogs, and asks if I might be able to watch his sometime when he goes out of town. I somehow manage to make a non-committal response and leave work, only to run into a former neighbor in the park who was walking her dog, and somehow sensed my abilities, and asked me if I’d ever be available to dog-sit. And on and on and so forth. One after another. It’s like people really want to jump at a chance to get a usually expensive service done for free or something. I feel like that girl who slept with a guy on the football team, and suddenly everyone knows about it and wants to ask her out, only instead of being desired for being cheap sexually, I’m wanted for being cheap with my free time. I’m a weekend time slut.
At this point, I have more keys on my ring, and know how to work more remote controlled cable boxes, than any self respecting single Christian girl should. It’s amazing how eager people that don’t really know you are to give you a set of keys and offer their home up to you, as long as you’ll offer to watch their dog for free. I’ve been bouncing around at so many houses lately, I feel like I could legitimately quit my job, stop paying rent, and spend my time moving from house to house, working on a book called “Sharing My Bed With Scruffy, My Year of Self-Induced Homelessness.” I better go ahead and trademark that title.
But like I said, once you’ve survived a nightmare like the one I had, and you wake up and realize that in no way are you related to a family whose only on the celebrity radar because of a leaked sex tape, you appreciate life. So bring it on pet owners. I have no complaints. Until someone asks me if I wouldn’t mind feeding their pet tarantula twice a day while their away at Comic Con, I’m all in as a free pet sitter. You provide the couch, cable, and Cape Cod chips, and I’ll provide the kind of mental relief that comes with knowing you just gave a key to your house to someone who writes a blog with posts about Kardashian sisters. Your move.