Super Dog

Well, I don't mean it so literally!!!

As I have mentioned before, I manage the largest pet care service in Washington, DC. We take care of roughly 750 a week, primarily in only the Northwest Quadrant of the city, and a few blocks spilling into the Maryland suburbs. We have a staff of about 15-18 'walkers' at any given moment, and provide 24/7 coverage 365 days a year. The majority of my time, is spent focusing on marketing, advertising, low end design work, scheduling, hiring new staff, training new hires, and assisting with invoicing, once in a blue moon.

I also provide pet care services to some of our 'higher maintenance' clientele, to ensure their satisfaction with our company, god forbid one of our scruffy punk rock staffers makes them nervous. This often means that I find myself in *unusual* circumstances, sometimes caring for people who have undergone heart surgery, elderly people who are now too feeble to walk their own dogs, women 'too pregnant to move,' and the like.

Overall, I consider myself a relatively good care taker. I am pretty intuitive, sensitive, (insert ominous foreshadowing here ___), and when I override my instinctual shyness, I can even be quite gregarious. Most of our clients (over 2,000+) seem to like me, and enjoy chatting with me when they get the chance. Sometimes I still find myself a little tongue tied and stuttery when faced with someone I make out to be a bit intimidating.

Meet: The Power Lesbians.

Two of the remaining few clients I assist directly are what I refer to as "The Power Lesbians." They are two women, most likely in their 50s, who are an incredibly powerful and influential couple. One is a retired lawyer, while the other is a famous political journalist for televised news programs. (Yes, you would know her...) They make me nervous.

Both of these women are powerhouses not to be reckoned with, which of course, throws me into nervous spasms every time I approach their huge, minimalist, modernist mansion. Ugh! I feel anxious even thinking about it.

The *funny* part is that these women seem to adore me, and rave about how lucky they are to have me caring for their precious pets. (Again, with the foreshadowing...) They would say repeatedly how important it is for their two boy dogs to have some "positive male influence" in their lives. I thought they were joking, until one of them finally fessed up that their previous dog would passive aggressively pee around the house if a guy came over. Oh, they weren't joking! Anybody else find this hilarious, saying this kind of shit to ME?!?

Just yesterday, the lesbian lawyer (think of Jane Lynch from Glee and Best in Show), praised me for almost a half hour, raving about my meticulous attention to every detail her dogs need. While I was readying myself for an awkward exit, she stood silently, with her "math face" on, as though she was cornered with a new exhibit right before her final cross examination.



PL: "Will, I was wondering if there is anything that you want for Christmas." (Notice, this was a statement, not a question.)

Will: "Um – no, no, no...! There's nothing I need, and these guys are so much fun to be around, it's a joy to see them." (Did I even answer her question in there?)

PL: "Well, I wanted to get you something special you might like as a 'thank you' for taking such great care of our boys. But I didn't want to get you something you didn't want, so I was thinking I'd just give you a check. I know – it's so gauche, but that way you can get what you'd like."

Will: "Really – these boys are so great, I don't need anything. But I appreciate your gesture."

She wouldn't accept my deflection, and persisted. I knew I didn't have a chance against the Power Lesbians, so I acquiesced.

Fast forward to today: I was feeling a little under the weather, literally, as it was 30º and incredibly windy, but otherwise okay. I arrived to their homo-mansion to only find the older of their two dogs, but mysteriously, it sounded as though someone might be rustling around upstairs. (Note: I would *never* go upstairs in the lesbian lair. Nope, never, nunca!)

I took the one dog down to the nearby park (which I have to drive the dog to get there, btw!), and upon returning, found Jane Lynch's doppleganger cavorting with the younger pup. She asked me to take the little guy out to the back yard to let him pee, and reminded me that I didn't need a leash. Meanwhile, she walked the older dog down to their renovated basement, and told me to follow with the pup in my arms. As we arrived at the bottom of the stairs, the little westie pup decided to completely launch himself out of my arms in an attempt to catch his Mom. This wriggling made me nervous, and I tried to get a good handle on him, with no avail, and through the air he leapt. It was like some slow motion multi-angle action shot in a blockbuster thriller – About a westie pup... It was awful!

Watching the dog mid-air, I freaked out, and tried to catch him, with no luck. He hit the ground, causing his little stubby white legs to buckle under him, and he belly flopped on the hard, ceramic tiled floor, bumping the very chin that she just told me last weekend might have a rare bone spur on it. Awesome! (Had I used the leash like I *had* been doing, this wouldn't have happened... Why did she tell me not to take it???)

I almost threw up.

She looked at me, as we both scurried to comfort the little guy who seemed completely unfazed. He was fine. I was the one in pain. The awkwardness and distress of having to sit there with the owner holding back her accusatory rants, and inflammatory tone. I was partly impressed that she didn't totally lose it on me, but I also felt so guilty and ashamed, I wanted to slink away and leave the key under the mat.

The Power Lesbian examined the little guy, as we both stared at him in concern, and she generously mentioned that this same exact thing happened to her a few weeks earlier, and not to worry. That's all I could do, imagining that his bone spur has broken off, and is now traveling freely inside his mandibular cavity.

I took him out in their back yard, where he frolicked carefree, diving into the still pristine white snow snout first. After what seemed like 18 dog years, the Power Lesbian joined me outside to rush things along, as she needed to head out to an event. I wanted to dive into the snow snout first as well, hoping to dive deep enough to disappear entirely. She tried to make me feel better still, and asked if I was still coming back tomorrow for their two visits while she will be away at a family funeral. Was I still allowed? Was I fired? She thanked me for my help, and told me to "take good care of the boys tomorrow." I think she meant: "take BETTER care of my boys tomorrow."

Just in case you were wondering: Dogs apparently can fly, it's the landing part they aren't so good at... Ugh, so much for being that sensitive, caring, positive male influence this dog needed! Jeez...