This weekend I was dogsitting. Which is weird since I’m really not fond of domestic animals in any form. Pets are not my thing, but it was for my boss, and she gave me a little cash for my time. Even though I stayed at her house, I wasn’t really housesitting, I was defintiely dogsitting. The dog required much more work than the house. What with the food, the water, the pills, the letting him out all the time. I’m sorry to say we did not become best friends this weekend.

I’m sure it didn’t help that he could sense my indifference. He really didn’t like me. He wouldn’t go outside for me, no matter how much excitement I feigned at the idea of peeing in the great outdoors. When I would pet him, he didn’t acknowledge me, choosing instead to stare at the wall, which was most certainly more interesting than this hideous stranger invading his home. If it weren’t for Brad, I think the dog might have laid in the same spot all weekend, forgoing all food and bathroom breaks, in protest of my presence. Even though Brad’s not a huge fan either, he did a better job of faking it because the dog actually went outside when Brad suggested it. He also followed Brad around, preferring to lay at his feet, whereas he stayed as far away from me as possible.

Brad even cleaned up the puke we found on our first day there. Me and animal vomit do not get along, so even though it’s obviously not Brad’s favorite thing (is it anybody’s? I surely hope not), he cleaned up the mess while I gagged in the bathroom at the mere thought of regurgitated dog food. Are you vomitting with me people?

I did my best to make him comfortable because it’s not his fault his mom left for a few days and I was her inadequate replacement. But if ever I suggest I might want a dog someday, remind me that this is just one of many instances where I just can’t conjure up any real affection for animals.