The ladies at work hooked me up with my first pet sitting job. They called me one afternoon and said there was a woman, with a nice (i.e. expensive) horse in her backyard, who needed a pet sitter. They made it sound like it was the greatest idea ever. I could earn some extra cash and get out of the parentals house a few nights a week. I said yes before I knew all the facts.
Turns out, pet sitting lady is a little kooky. I'm going to post something I wrote about six months ago, when I first started pet sitting for her. I would like to preface this with the fact that now I absolutely love her and she pays me lots of money and provides me with great stories for my friends and family.
* Names are changed. I'm tricky.
The horse I’m taking care of is Dingbat (FYI - I put his real name into the Thesaurus and that was the first word that came up). The biggest horse I’ve ever handled. And quite possibly, to borrow a word from the book of Dad, the surliest horse I’ve ever dealt with. He pins his ears and swings his massive head in circles every time I get near him. His mom swears it’s all talk, but the people at the vet tell a different story. One doctor said he’s libel to kill me. Another girl said Dr. X refuses to treat him because he’s so ill behaved. However, Dr. X is the one who hooked me up with the job so I’m thinking she has confidence in my ability to survive the weekend.
Dingbat is a grand prix jumper. A clubbed foot has forced him into retirement but he’s still treated like a neurotic athlete. His routine is more precise than a military schedule. No wonder he’s so kooky – he’s made that way!
Each morning he leaves his stall and stands in the cross ties. At this point I am allowed to take off the THREE blankets he wears at night to brush his coat. I guess his coat is too beautiful to see the light of day because he wears two blankets outside during the day. It’s mid 60’s in the desert right now. I am also allowed to roll up his slinky and brush his mane. After his grooming session I am then required to clean his stall. A dish washing glove is provided to HAND PICK the poop from his stall. Yes, she expects me to pick up single balls of shit.
Next, I have to push all the shavings up around the edge of the stall. Not an easy task as there is easily two feet of shavings in the stall. Not one fleck can be left in the middle.
Now, time to prepare morning meal. Two generous scoops of Equine Adult and two flakes Alfalfa. Easy enough but placement is key. The food must go on a mat outside in the arena. Grain on the left, hay on the right. And don’t even think of putting the food on the mat until it is swept clean. A bucket of water is then placed above and to the right of the mat. But not just any water, perfectly temped (made up word) water. Not-too-hot, not-too-cold or he won’t drink it. Another bucket of water is also required. Half full of the same not-too-hot not-too-cold water. This bucket lives in a different location, about 20 paces east of the food and previous mentioned water bucket.
Now it’s time to dress Dingbat for the day. He wears his slinky, a light sheet and a turnout blanket. Once he’s dressed he can go outside to play. But my job isn’t finished. I have to turn the radio on, sweep the aisle way and take the dirty bedding out to the dumpster. All this takes forever and it’s only the morning routine!
Nighttime is a little different. I first have to rake all the shavings down into the middle of the stall, leaving about a foot and a half clearance at the front of the stall for who knows what. Then I prepare Dingbat’s evening meal. Two generous scoops Equine adult, one scoop wheat bran, a half a scoop rice bran, a cup of flaxseed that I prepared the night before and a hefty drizzle of molasses. She mixes with her hand but I mix with the scoop. Sorry Dingbat, not getting my hands dirty to make your dinner. That 20 pound mixture is hung at head level in his stall. Dingbat’s food can’t touch the ground. I’m surprised his feet are allowed to touch the ground!
Speaking of feet, once the meal goes in it’s time to pick his hooves. Outside. He actually stands pretty well for this. He is then allowed to go into his stall to eat dinner. While he’s eating I can take one blanket off in preparation for another blanket to go one, but not yet. Notice no mention of water? Well, he’s not allowed any water while eating dinner. He’s a dunker. Plenty of horses dunk their food and hay in water before they eat it. I already have two buckets of water waiting outside the stall, one for now, one for later. Again, not-too-hot, not-too-cold. Just the right temperature. While he eats I get the flaxseed ready for tomorrow, scoop poo in the arena, empty the big water bucket and sweep the aisle again.
Then, it’s time to brave the beast and put his two nighttime blankets on. He swings his giant potentially death inducing head around as I heave the blankets on his back. He’s so huge I have a hard time, but manage. He takes up the entire stall and it’s nerve wracking to move around him. If he decides to move any direction I’m either shoved up against the wall or left without a way of escape. Yikes. This particular portion of the routine takes place around 5:30. Dingbat is then left alone to ponder the evening with his window open. The lights in the house must be left on or he is upset. I guess Dingbat is also a voyeur.
Nearly four hours later it is lights out routine. Dingbat gets his other bucket of water, his window is shut, the barn doors are shut, the radio gets turned off and the lights go out. Did I mention I am also supposed to pick up poo with my kitchen glove at this point? I passed on that idea. I chose secret option B – ignore poop in stall as horse is a horse. I am now allowed to go inside and turn off the outside house lights so Dingbat can rest. Is anyone still wondering why this horse is crazy? I’ll let you know how the second night goes.
As I said before, I've come to enjoy this job. Kooky Lady also has two dogs and a cat that are quite friendly. Her house feels like my house and I feel comfortable there. So comfortable that I notice when things are out of place. Enter the intruder and the police...
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