FIRST DAYS

What follows is a bit out of sequence. But I'm moving forward with this section and will return to write on how I started housesitting later. Thanks for understanding. - SM


When I arrive at a new assignment, I begin with all the zeal of a safari journey. I unload the car, planning where everything is to go. I sometimes stage this unloading phase so the dog or dogs won’t be upset or out of sorts. I scope out where things are placed in the kitchen, bathrooms, etc., so if I use them, I can put them back right where I found them before I leave.

I soak in the ambiance, check out the landmarks from the windows, and make sure that I have what I need to settle in. I eventually begin to make the space my own, the bathroom slowly takes on the appearance of my own at home. The kitchen gets organized to my convenience and even the bedroom takes on the same slightly messy look I seem to carry with me, no matter where I am.

Whether I’ve been to this location before or not, I find the closest food stores and gas stations. I go out and buy some things. This is when the first inkling of depression descends. There is a small, first whiff of deception. I feel like I am an interloper, not of this area. I try and imagine myself as a member of this affluent community, just doing my shopping like everyone else. Naturally, I begin to see through the deception and view myself as a fake and a wanna-be. Of course, I tell myself, this is not true.

I tell myself that I am just another person shopping, using the stores like any one else. I’m entitled to be here. But I know that deep inside, I really want to pretend to be a resident of the extended community of rich people. I want to be seen and treated differently than when I go to my own neighborhood markets that are so much less attractive.

There is a strong feeling of not being ok. I feel I am so out of place, outside my boundaries. I know I’m pretending to be a part of something I’m not. It’s strong, but I fight it.

And that’s when I begin to feel the loneliness. It descends as a shadow. When I return to the house, it spreads to every corner, every minute of my time. I am alone. Even if the dog(or dogs) have bonded to me, I have the distinct feeling that my only real function is that of biscuit-giver,food-preparer, walk-maker.

This is not my house. This is not my neighborhood, not my life and yet it is. I am a displaced person in a place I have created. I can’t even complain about it because it was my choice, I knew what I was getting into. Upside, downside there is still the loneliness.

The Beginning of Dog Conversations

I haven’t had a dog since I was 11 years old. That year, a car hit our family dog, Lizzie, while I was in school. I never saw her body and never saw her again. My relationship with Lizzie was short lived. I watched her born in a neighbor’s garage to a female cocker spaniel mix and an unknown father. It was my first education as to how we all come into the world. I don’t even remember taking care of her when she was a puppy. While she was our family dog, I’m sure she was my Mother’s responsibility. I do remember trying to make friends with her, playing by running in the vacant fields near my home while she chased and ran with me. Somehow, I never felt Lizzie knew what I meant when I said come on Liz, run Liz or begged her to play with me. She was a sweet dog, but she was not mine. As a result, I never experienced what it was to truly bond with an animal.

As I grew up, I was vaguely aware that dogs were special pets, usually for men. I had cats. I liked cats. I could appreciate cats. Dogs seemed somewhat foreign, cruder than a cat. And that was the way it was for a long, long time.

Yet, always I knew. I knew dogs had special powers. A dog could sense your fear. Dogs knew if you were authentic or insincere. Since I knew I was a fake, I stayed away from dogs fearing they would find me out and tell the world. So much of my life was lived without any significant contact with dogs.

Oh, I had a few friends who had dogs, but not that many. I think a turning point came when a woman friend of mine lost her long time companion Micheal. Michael was a dog. She and Michael had lived together for over 15 years. I knew people got upset over losing a pet, but this was as strong a grief as I’d ever seen for the death of a relative or dare I say, a spouse. In fact, her love for Michael had been foreign to me and I thought just a bit overdone. But the impression remained with me. Here was a friend I highly regarded, mourning her dog, obviously having had a close relationship with this animal; closer than I'd ever had with any human being.

I was aware dogs had special qualities many people valued. I wanted to experience those qualities for myself. But I was still wary that dogs would find me out and I would easily be seen as the fake I really was. Then, I realized I’d done twelve years of therapy working on my own authentic self and I was pretty grounded and I knew myself to be a caring person. Maybe I could get close to a dog without the dog ignoring me, or worse yet, showing disdain toward me.

I was soon able to put that theory to the test.