As you have probably discerned by now, I am as high-maintenance as my Jack Russell, who is an edgy bolter who, until quite recently, would dislocate my arm at the sight of an airborne garbage bag, and who won't go to sleep until I have staged an elaborate operetta with him and one of his many dolls.
Finally, to make a very long story short, I discovered, among the long list of dog services that includes Poop Patrol, Think Pawsitive! All Woof home-style boarding and Regal Dogs resort, a service that provides daily visits and in-house care - vipSitters.
The service, run by the inimitable Kyle Freeman, offers a multi-page questionnaire that asks, among other things, what kind of music your dog likes, and what his emotional state may be at any given moment.
Caretakers of Barbra Streisand's, Doug Gilmour's, and Faith Hill's dogs, vipSitters is Toronto-based, but sends its people anywhere in the world, and is on the verge of franchising.
Utterly at ease with amateur divas like me, they acquiesced to my demands ("Put Frank on the phone!") and insisted I relax, because everything is "all right."
These two words make me sigh when I am away for lengthy periods of time; as do vipSitters' complex reports on how heartily or lumpishly my animals eliminated during my absence.
While I feel that vipSitters responds to every need available (walking, sitting, grooming, emergency pickups and more), if you have pets that want to socialize, there are many services you can use, where your hirsute amours can play with other animals and practise Frisbee before you pick them up after an extended day at the office, or a small vacation.
Boarding at the veterinarian is not recommended. While it is pleasing to know that if your pet suffers a near-fatal heart attack, help is at hand, it is otherwise boxed in a cage and plotting revenge against you for this dereliction.
Then there is the matter of trusting someone with your home. Look for a bonded and insured sitter who works for a reputable company. The sitter might look at your amateur Polaroids, but he or she will be there when the dreaded holiday burglars arrive; when Steve or Baby Jesus chokes on a chicken bone; and when your pals are simply lonely.
In 1808, Lord Byron wrote an elegy for his beloved Newfoundland dog, which ends: "To mark a friend's remains these stones arise/I never knew but one - and here he lies."
My dog's best friend sent this poem to me. A poem about my own best friend, who surely deserves better than what is easily available; who occupies, with all my small creatures, the space formerly vacant, that is, my soul.