(Post #23) Finally, a "Normal" Pet Sitting Adventure—With an Added Bonus
I wasn’t used to a dog being off-leash, but with Ripley, it was a must. She was the queen of the land, and who was I to challenge her royal ways? So off we went, down the path from the house toward the first entrance of the forest trail. And how did I know I’d arrived? Well, they’d thoughtfully pointed out a poop bucket—yes, you read that right—which marked the spot where the trail began. Handy, right?
When I told a few friends about this poop bucket, they were puzzled. "Why not just leave the poop in the forest? It’s good for nature!" Uh, no. Deer poop? Sure. Rabbit poop? Fine. But stepping into a pile of Ripley’s gifts would be like walking into a human toilet. So, yes, the poop bag and bucket routine became part of my daily trail ritual, and I’ve never been more grateful for such a landmark.
Ripley, of course, led the way, trotting ahead like she had somewhere important to be. Every so often, I’d trip over a branch and make a groaning noise, and without fail, Ripley would glance back, almost encouraging me with a look that said, “Come on, not too much further.” Up and down, up and down the trail we went. I had my phone with me, but I couldn’t shake the small fear of falling and needing to be rescued by the local search party. Thankfully, Ripley seemed like the loyal type—if I did take a tumble, I had faith she’d stick around.
And then, just like that, we reached the clearing, the pond, and—ta-da!—the house. We did it! I survived without getting lost or breaking any bones. This trail thing? I could get used to it.
Crissy and Konrad had mentioned setting up a “dog date” for Ripley at the spit down the road—essentially a narrow strip of land along the coast and perfect for doggy adventures. I’d driven by the entrance on my way to the house, so I was excited to give it a go. And as luck would have it, the other dog owners, Trish and Dan, were friends of Crissy and Konrad. They wanted to meet me, possibly for a future house-sitting gig. Win-win, right?
As I drove down the steep, pothole-filled road, Ripley started to lose her mind with excitement. She knew what was coming—swimming, stick-fetching, and reuniting with her buddies. We arrived at the spit, and the other dogs were already there, ready for action.
Ripley happily fetched the stick time and again, while I chatted with Trish and Dan, who were in their 70s and seemed genuinely lovely. Dan spoke highly of Crissy and Konrad, and before I knew it, we’d sealed the deal—I’d be sitting for them right after this gig. They told me about their large log cabin, which they’d built 20 years ago and used as a bed-and-breakfast before retiring. It sat on one acre of land, at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, and the couple left for a four-week cruise every year. Nothing about this arrangement seemed unusual. In fact, I was thrilled for the opportunity to stay on Pender Island—plus, how could anything go wrong when everyone knew each other? More on that later.
After her adventure, Ripley was out cold for the rest of the day. That evening, a friend of mine came over for dinner and a sleepover. She stayed in the gorgeous guest room downstairs, which she loved. Inviting friends over was always approved by the homeowners, and I made sure to make the space feel like home for both me and my guests. We explored Pender Island together, even visiting the local spa, and I soaked in every moment. I love house/pet sitting for this purpose. Discovering new places, meeting new people and getting out of my comfort zone.
Time flew by in the most pleasant way. Ripley and I fell into a perfect routine—morning trails (though I still never quite got the hang of the path, so she led), followed by peaceful country walks in the afternoon. Ripley was a joy to be around, and everything about the place felt safe and comfortable, like home. I sent regular photo updates to Crissy and Konrad, and they seemed pleased with how things were going. But before I knew it, Konrad returned, with Cissy following soon after.
Packing up my things and saying goodbye to Ripley was harder than I expected. Two weeks did not seem long enough. I gave her a big hug—she’d been such a wonderful companion, and I’d miss her dearly. My next move was supposed to be seamless: transitioning from one house-sitting job to another, still on the same island. What could go wrong? Well, as I would soon find out, nothing is ever that simple...
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