Buried Alive In the Litter Box: The Good, Bad, and Sometimes Ugly Pet Experiences

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Chapter 1

DOGS OF DESTRUCTION

Crossing the threshold of the doorway, I come to a sudden stop. Looking around, my eyes now focused on the mayhem. My jaw drops to meet my feet as I mutter some uncensored words I would not dare use in front of my mother. There are different kinds of destruction, better characterized as weapons of mass destruction. Some of these weapons escape from their nighttime confines to totally destroy the main floor of a house, or in one particular case, decides to spread oil paints on the floor of the garage. Others, well, they have a thing for ripping objects that equate to a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle. These dogs, for whatever reason, get into all kinds of mischief. It could be the lack of human parental guidance, or they just don’t care. Maybe they listened to the little devil dog whispering in the left ear and completely ignored the angel dog whispering in the right ear. The destructo-dogs I had the pleasure of caring for were not so discriminating in their havoc, and it seemed as though their reign of terror was on going. These creatures clearly shook off the little angel dog like a bothersome flea. These ones played devil’s advocate.

This pair in particular now resides on my Destructo-Dogs Wall of Fame. The one-year-old black lab brothers, Chadwick and Sam, resided at a two-story house in south Reno. I figured because they were Labradors they would be easy going, friendly, and would be simple to maintain. I was introduced to Chadwick and Sam by the owners and, naïve me, should have known something was up when the two youngsters, who had been standing side by side, cocked their heads toward each other, raised an eyebrow and had this almost smirking look on their lips as if to say, She don’t know us very well, does she?

At first, they stayed outside full time, and with smiles on their faces, would destroy anything left in the yard… toys, garden tools, dog bowls, the backyard fence, nothing left back there stood a chance. I would normally just have to walk through the house and out to the rather large backyard where they cohabitated, now a war torn landscape thanks to those two, to do my daily routine. There was a small kennel with a doghouse for the two terrorist to find recluse, but somehow I don’t think they ever rested. Looking around, I noticed one of the dog dishes had new teeth marks in it, the garden tools the owners so carelessly left out, maybe they thought the tools were out of range, had bite marks on the handles and were now scattered all over the yard. A trash bag was somehow dragged out of the can with its contents spilled all over.

Chadwick and Sam couldn’t have picked a better time to broaden their horizon with a gaping hole in the fence that bordered the next-door neighbor’s backyard. I’m pretty sure this pleased these two to no end having doubled their running space, again with really big smiles on their faces. As for their timing, it wasn’t summertime where I could feebly attempt to rework the fence situation in the sunshine. Oh no. It was in the winter during a rainstorm. I gathered up all the bricks and large rocks I could find, and suitable pieces of what was left of the fence boards, my hands and clothing covered in mud as I try to stack and lean this material strategically to keep the brothers in. In the middle of my diligent repair, if I had to move over one inch to grab a brick, rock, or board, the dynamic duo would seize the opportunity and whiz by me forcing a work stoppage. All I sensed was the smell of wet dogs and two black blurs diving through the fence breach to go play next-door. Come on guys… They forced me to crawl through the small gap into the neighbor’s backyard to chase them back through the hole. Because of their repeated offense, I actually had to do this more than once. This, I believed, was the peak of their destruction; they couldn’t possibly do any worse. There was no way they could top the malfeasance they have already created. I was wrong, dead wrong, they did.

The unequivocal destruction came between Christmas and New Year’s when Chadwick and Sam’s owners decided to keep the rambunctious rovers in crates in the living room. Why the heck they decided to do that, I don’t know; there was probably nothing left of the backyard. The owners should have just fixed or put up a new fence, a cinder block fence and razor wire would have sufficed. To make things harder I had to escort them outside to do their duty, as I gave them the, Don’t even think about it, eyeball just so they wouldn’t escape through the dilapidated fence.

The owners asked me to come over once a day, in the mornings, because they had arranged for an adolescent neighbor girl to take care of the two misfits later in the afternoon. This girl would always leave me a note stating how she would like to meet me, yada, yada, yada. I didn’t have time for her to tell you the truth. I was too busy with sixteen other customers to cover but, had it been anytime besides a holiday, I might have accommodated her. It was one of those take the note, wad it up, and throw it over the shoulder knee-jerk reactions. I won’t even speculate on exactly what happened next or whose fault it was. All I know is that when I left the house the morning before, the dogs were secure in the crates. I can only imagine the scenario that took place with these two masters of mayhem.

Pssst, Chadwick. Hey, Sam said leaning on the side of his crate closest to his bro.

I think we can bust outta this place. The girl didn’t close one of the latches and if you paw at it enough, I think we can make a jail break.

After a few seconds and some scratching at the front of the crate, a gleeful Yippee, I’m free, I’m free, was heard from Chadwick. Come on Sam, you were right.

A jailbreak happened, and the Houdini dogs had made their escape. Chad and Sam stood just outside of the cages, looking at each other wondering, Now what? The brow rose up over Sam’s eye with the sudden urge to look for some tasty treats. It was the calm before the storm.

Chad, do you think our people, or the girls who are watching us left out a snack?

Don’t know Sam, let’s explore, and see what we can find.

Explore they did. With black noses in the air, the first stop was the trashcan that was at the time in a corner of the kitchen. Something smelled ripe enough to investigate. Knocking the can over and digging through the contents and finding nothing, they decided to proceed to the living area were they discovered the plastic storage containers. They thought this could be promising. After forcibly opening the storage containers and dumping the contents, they discovered it was just stuff for crafting and no food. Over by the couch was a file box and a basket holding office supplies, paper clips, a stapler with a box of staples next to it, note pads and some pens, so these two couldn’t leave without trying to figure out if some tasty treats might be inside the file box or the little basket.

Sam said to his partner in crime, I thought for sure a piece of candy would be in the basket. Do you think our people will know it was us who ripped open the box with all those little metal things in it? Sam was referring to the staples now spread all over the living room floor.

Chads response to that, Probably not, they can blame it on the cat. Same goes for all that paperwork in that drawer thing we played tug of war with.

The two turned around and headed back toward the trash can.

Wait! Looking up on the kitchen counter with noses wildly twitching, the scent of potato chips wafted towards them. Scored!

On Sam and Chadwick went, to the left of the kitchen was the formal dining area with the wooden table and hutch close by. Not to be fooled, Sam knew this is where their owners put food, so I guess he thought it clever of them to jump up on the table and see if any scraps were left. Little did they know the mistress of the house took plates, saucers and cups from the hutch and stacked them on the table for cleaning.

Sam, I think you scared the cat when you jumped on the table scattering those dishes all over the floor.

Yeah, they made a lot of noise breaking like that didn’t they Chad?

The scene that greeted me the next morning when I walked into the house made me instantly hear the theme song from The Twilight Zone. Did I wake up in a parallel universe? Perhaps I fell into a time warp, because just twenty-four hours ago this house had some order to it; the neatness, the tidiness had ended. The two rebels were unconfined, sitting in the living room, but when they saw me, they knew the jig was up.

Chadwick looked at me and at Sam, then back at me. Now acting more like a Pointer than a Retriever, with one front leg up and bent in Brother Sam’s direction, Chad assigned guilt. He made me do it! It’s all HIS fault!

Sam looked begrudgingly at his brother, Ya stoolie.

I took a big breath, gave the dogs The Look, you know, the look when your Mom caught you red handed doing something you knew you shouldn’t have been doing. These dogs got that kind of look from me, and then I turned and surveyed the devastation around me. Hurricane Katrina must have struck again or an EF5 tornado. Better yet, the two must have decided to redesign the interior in post-apocalyptic décor and surprise the owners. In this case, as far as this house goes, you can take your pick. It looked like Chadwick and Sam took their front legs and using them like we would use our arms, swiping them across tables, desks and counter tops, knocking off everything in their paths.

The evidence was staggering. Potato chip bags were ripped open with the contents strewn all over the place. Broken dishes everywhere in the dining room, but not the everyday kind of dishes, these were the collectible kind. Not a place in the living room, dining area, or kitchen was left intact. Trashcans, storage containers, office files, and supplies were knocked over and the contents spilled out. At least a baby-gate closing off the upstairs held up, or God knows what kind of mess I would’ve found up there. I have seen homes where some people opted to live like that, but this wasn’t one of them. The scariest part was seeing staples scattered about right in front of their crates. Staples and paws do not mix, even though I saw no evidence of wounded feet.

Enough of the staring with disbelief, back to work. But holey underwear, where to start? Starting from the crates, I worked my way out, as it took me over an hour to get the staples picked up, carefully collect and stack the shattered dishes, and gather up all of the trash that littered the downstairs from one end to the other. Then, I still had to sweep and vacuum. I swear, or swore, which I’m sure I did under my breath several times; these two should be registered as Improvised Explosive Devices, or commonly known as I.E.D’s. I can just imagine the exchange between the two canine culprits after the cleanup.

Darn it Sam. The pet sitter bought clips to put on our cells for maximum security.

That part is true, after what I just came from, I went to a nearby store and got some clips to secure the crate doors and quickly returned to the scene of the crime to place them before any more escape attempts.

I don’t understand that. It’s like she doesn’t trust us or something, replied Sam succumbing to his fate with head resting on his crossed paws.

The owners where due back that afternoon, and upon arrival they phoned me after they found my abbreviated note explaining the mess. I told them what happened at length and how long it took me to clean up. They said something to the effect that the neighbor girl mentioned she did some cleaning also. I said nothing back about that disclosure, but I pretty much thought, Someone please call an exorcist, my head just spun 360 degrees.

Wait a minute here! If her last time over was the night before and she did some cleaning, why didn’t she leave a note, as she always did, telling me what happened? And more importantly, why were the dogs out AFTER she was there last? I think when the girl first arrived, the dogs were properly contained, but after bringing the two back in from the yard, she was doing some regular cleaning up, and bringing in dog dishes etc., and possibly forgot to latch the crates properly. Perhaps, she misunderstood what Sam and Chadwick’s owners said to her about the house looking as if a bomb went off. On the other hand, maybe this was payback for me not calling her.

Oh wow, I thought, I’m sure hoping that doesn’t happen again. I did plenty of interviews with prospective customers after the escapades of the two escapees, meeting their dogs, and so far so good. The dogs I cared for after Sam and Chadwick were tame compared to those guys.

I have learned by trial and error that there are some breeds that have enough energy to launch a space shuttle. I listened to what prospective customers said about their dog’s habits or what the newly acquired puppy is capable of doing. One puppy had a habit of chewing on everything from shoes to the leg of an antique desk. No thanks. I didn’t want to be blamed, not that I would, because the one-of-a-kind antique table had a leg half chewed off, but you never know what is in the back of people’s minds. As for the more mature dogs, looks can be deceiving. While the parents are home, they are completely behaved, with the angelic halo hanging over their heads, but when absent, look out. While the owners are away, they sprout the devils horns and they will play. I shuttered as I imagined a repeat of the Sam and Chadwick incident. Those two are etched into my mind forever.

Years went by without any outward destruction by dogs other than some accidents, such as their smelly landmines left for me to pick up off the living room floor. No more warnings about puppies that like to rip up everything in sight, and there were no more jailbreaks. Everything was copasetic; life was good, but that all changed abruptly when another Hall of Famer entered my life.

A prospective customer called who was referred to me by a very good client I have had for fourteen years. Becca called to explain that she and her son were going to Las Vegas for a few days and she had heard I was very good at watching animals. I thanked her for the compliment and fielded some questions on the type of pets she had. Becca had a cat that needed insulin shots, and three dogs, two of which were grown, Ginger and Harvey, who were mixed breeds, along with an eleven-month old puppy named Toby, a half Pit Bull half German Shepherd. She continued to warn me about Toby and how he could be a little aggressive when a stranger first comes through the door. She assured me that after he figured out I was there to feed him, he would be okay. Really!?

Becca’s house I noticed was modest, small in size as I walked passed all the flowers bordering the walkway to the front door, getting that angst about opening the door due to the warning she gave me about Toby even though I met him at my orientation with Becca. As soon as he heard the key turn the lock, he would be waiting right on the other side of the front door, growling and bearing his teeth every single time. I would always hesitate before actually opening the door and crossing the threshold to rethink my options. First, let me retrieve my new repellent, Acmes Eau de Mutt & Shark-Off from my glove box and douse myself with it. It’s guaranteed to make a person stink like a skunk, and make Rover run for the hills or the flying Great Whites off the African Coast move to the Great Barrier Reef. The label also comes with a warning, May make your eyes water. Shower after needed usage. Prolonged exposure to clothes and skin may cause you to go up in flames. Well, anything to keep Snarls Barkley outta my face. Coupled with gnashing teeth, the obstacle of a little area table right on the other side of the door made my entry awkward.

As the job continued, I realized the stars and planets were not lined up right, at least for me and this particular assignment. Up to this point, every single person who has hired me to give insulin shots to their cats, the instructions has always been to inject the poor thing twice a day. So that’s what I did. I started counting the number of syringes hidden among the magazines and paperwork on her small dining table and saw that there wasn’t enough to get me through all the visits. I called Becca and I found out that the shot was to be given only once a day. Somewhere in translation, an important point was lost and she did not specify that the shot was only given during the evening visit. The cat was fine anyway. She only was jabbed twice a day for two days.

The third day into the job, while being able to get through the front door and pass by Toby okay, I walked from the entry way into the living area and glanced to my left and saw the couch, and it didn’t look the same as the night before. This poor woman got my second phone call when I saw Toby had destroyed one of the three cushions from her couch.

What do you want me to do with the cushion and its body parts…save it or throw it away? I asked her. She told me to just toss it. I only had to take care of this brood one more day, and I was thinking back to a few years ago, hoping this would not turn into a destructive repeat of Sam and Chadwick.

Because of their ages, Ginger and Harvey learned to maintain some decorum and tried to dictate good behavior for Toby to imitate. However, their concerted efforts proved to be in vain. It was apparent the taste of just one cushion piqued Toby’s taste for furniture, and he wanted more.

Toby, what the heck are you staring at? questioned Harvey ensconced comfortably on what remainder of the cushions.

Toby, who was sitting inches in front of Harvey, just kept staring with a little bit of slobber edging out of the corner of his mouth. He said nothing. This may have started innocently enough, like irresistibly pulling on that thread hanging from a shirt until the whole seam is unraveled. In Harvey’s mind, I’m more prone to believing he was thinking that the leather part of that Ethan Allen couch kind of tasted like one of his favorite rawhide chew toys, with the fabric and foam adding some texture. It was kind of shaped like a rawhide chew toy, a really GIANT chew toy. Just his size, he thought.

Toby, what the Hell are ya doin’? Harvey yipped as he leapt off the couch. Toby lunged toward the cushion his pal was once so comfortable on, leaving that couch to its inevitable demise. Along with destroying the couch, Toby decided to drag a calculator off a desk and see what that tasted like. Not so good, he decided once he reached the battery.

My last visit of this trying job, I’m wondering if all was well as I am waving off Toby entering the home. Walking into the living area, I saw the calculator and it’s chewed up battery, picking them up with a sigh. Then I noticed the couch, and that prompted me to make the third and final phone call to Becca. I’m sorry, but I admit when I went out to my 4Runner to retrieve my cell phone I was laughing. Two guys who were unloading a pickup truck next-door heard my laughter, stopped what they were doing, and looked at me with a question mark over their heads at about the same time I glanced in their direction and explained, She’s gonna need a new couch. I then proceeded to phone Becca.

You’re going to need a new couch, I told her. She said it was no problem, that she would just buy new foam and re-stuff the upholstery.

No! No, no, no, was my response. I told her she didn’t understand the scope of the damage, and I would put the remains in her bedroom so she could see for herself. Toby had ripped up the two remaining cushions and the upholstery with it. It wasn’t until I was crawling around the living room floor dragging the trash bag along, that I noticed the real extent of the couch’s annihilation. I should have brought some latex gloves in with me because of the foam sticking to my hands from all of the dripping dog spit. Not only had Toby shredded the remains of the foam and upholstery, he had ripped the fabric and leather off the frame of the couch. After the cleanup, I hauled the bag down her hallway into the master bedroom and dropped it by her dresser that was to the left of her door. Like I told Becca, You’re gonna need a new couch. Toby, as far as I know, didn’t attack the recliner that was sitting in front of the television, a Bark-o-lounger…yet. It was fine. Becca also had chickens out toward the back of her property, separate from the backyard in their own little coop, and they were fine too. I won’t tell you what happened there. My bad.

I guess I could say that even though Toby’s couch and calculator eating frenzy was more of a twenty-four hour ongoing one-time event, that I’m aware of, there were a couple of customers whose dog, or dogs, decided to take it upon themselves to shake things up only once with one particular choice object in mind.

The first incident involved Molly, a Brittany Spaniel, who one evening decided to follow in her human Moms footsteps and become an artist. This house was new and built in an upscale neighborhood, I’m talking executive homes of four thousand square feet plus. This home had travertine tile, granite counters in the kitchen and bathrooms and a laundry room you could park a car in.

Although Molly had a dog run on the side of the house for day use, she was kept in the four-car garage at night to avoid keeping the neighborhood awake with her barking. Joyce kept all of her art supplies stacked against a wall and on racks, out of the way of the cars and the dog. I had been caring for Molly now for about a year with no problems, then I walked in one fateful morning to let Molly out and discovered the wonderful mural she oil painted on the garage floor. Molly picked the colors of red and blue, and it was apparent she had a blast with them. Like a kid wearing socks on a freshly waxed floor, I could only imagine that she skidded into the oils she spilled along with executing some pirouettes to add some abstract to her creation. Molly was the original first destructo-dog I had experienced. Thankfully, Joyce, the human Mom and oil painter, never blamed me for the new look to her garage.

The second one-time incident was at the home of Lex and Luther, two Boxers, who had the run of the dining and kitchen areas of the house along with the backyard, and not a small backyard, but about a half an acre’s worth. The house was in an upscale-forested neighborhood, a beautiful wood stained structure, enhanced by natural landscape. If I was lucky enough to be at this home after a rain, I could take a deep breath and smell the aroma of the pine trees. Even though the pair was not very destructive, at least not like some I would have the pleasure of meeting in the future, they had one moment when they saw the opportunity that would make a few other dogs envious with their choice of mayhem.

I always entered coming through the front door of this nice home and had to go through the living room, which was the forbidden zone for those two and closed off by a baby gate. Turning to the left to the kitchen/dining area is when I discovered the mess L and L made after they attacked a bag of potting soil the owners had left resting by the dining table. It wasn’t a small bag of potting soil; it was about two cubic feet, which is quite a lot when spread out. Potting soil only meant one thing to me…the mistress of the house was going to pot some more flowers. She already had at least fifty of them, which I had to water on occasion.

The dogs must have gotten that sparkle in their eyes and played tug of war ripping the bag to shreds covering the entire dining area in dirt. All I could think was, Come on guys! What did I do to ever deserve this? I’m here every day to feed you, aren’t I? The potting soil was not that easy to clean up. The soil as it was freed from the bag wafted through the air like a spewing clogged vacuum and got into and under every nook and cranny and corner of the dining room. Thank God for the baby gate between the dining room and living room, sparing me from cleaning the carpet, so all I needed was a broom and mop.

Toby, Molly, Sam and Chadwick had relevant objects to destroy…a couch, a garage floor and a house along with some items in the backyard, and the backyard itself. Toby also dug holes in Becca’s yard making it look like the crater-ridden surface of the moon, but she knew that is what he did. I remember three dogs that did not care about their yards landscape either, and like some previous dogs in my care, these guys ripped anything they could sink their teeth in to bits.

These guys lived only two miles from my home, and I had been hired to take care of them. The three amigos were the two Labs, Dynamite, and Harley, and Bugsy, a Basset Hound. Not waiting for the owners to go away to misbehave, they flaunted their destruction right in front of them. The beleaguered owner told me she had a real problem with them digging up, tearing apart her drip and sprinkler system in the backyard, and asked me if there was anything I could think of to keep them from doing that. No, unless you consider some kind of electronic containment, which was something else they would probably dig up. God, those dogs! How they came up with the many things to rip apart was always a mystery to me, but they did, maybe space debris coming in for a landing. Well, at least they didn’t dig too many holes in the lawn.

In the morning, I was instructed to open up the kennel gate to the large and grassy backyard for them to run in and to dig up and rip more drip system, while still having access to the kennel area that had a dog door into the garage. At night, I was to close them back in their kennel area, feed them and fill up the water dish. The owners had blocked off almost the entire garage so they wouldn’t get into God knows what, leaving about a six foot space inside to get