At 10 AM on Friday, David called me back. He apologized for not getting back to me the day before; it had been a busy week.
“That’s fine. So, is Sunday okay, or do I need to leave her on Saturday?”
“Well, see that’s the thing. Now I’m booked until April.”
“What?!”
“It’s first come first serve,” he said while earlier he had said, “It’s not about the money.”
“I told you I was raising the money for her and we would do this. That was three days ago.”
“Well, things change. That’s great that you raised the money,” he said a flat, not impressed way.
I broke. It had been an already stressful week, and the seams of my emotional fabric were frayed.
“Really? It’s not about the money? You knew she had nowhere to go. You knew I was raising the money. So now there’s just no room for her?”
“Well, there’s nothing I can do," he stated matter-a-factly.
“You could have called!!! I have a thousand dollars of my friends’ money specifically for her to go to you, and now you can’t do it! What do I tell them? That I lied?!”
Now my stress wasn’t just where would Missy go, but what about all the money that I had raised. My friends generously contributed for the betterment of the dog, not for her to be boarded.
“Well, here’s an option,” David began.” “There’s a boarding facility right across from me...” He constantly talks down to me as if I know nothing; he has no idea how linked into the rescue community I am.
“I know,” I said. “It’s a kennel.”
“Well, his rate is $20 a day, and I can talk to the owner—“
“I believe the rescue rate is $16—“ I had already inquired about this.
“—well, I’d have to talk to him. But Missy can stay there and then I’ll train her every day. I can walk across the street and get her and bring her over and work with her.”
“My friends are paying for her to be in a HOME, not in a kennel!”
“Well I just told you, that’s not an option, so I’m giving you this solution.”
“And how much is that going to cost?”
“Well we can talk about that. We’re talking about that right now.”
Good God, I wanted to punch this man. I had always found him to be a pompous ass, but because he was a good trainer and handled Missy well, I put up with his arrogance and inability to communicate nicely with humans. I accept that this is a frequent personality flaw with people who work with animals. But now he had crossed the line. He had fucked me over big time, and now I had to explain that to my friends who put money in the pot to pay for him.
“If it was $75/day, why not half for $37.50?” He proposed.
“How long are you going to work with her?” I asked.
“Probably half an hour. Look, if she stayed with me, I don’t train with them for more than 30 minutes a day.”
Interestingly, boarding in a kennel at his facility is $50; the train and board in his house is $75; his personal one hour training sessions are $175.... this man’s pricing model was a joke.
“So you think I should pay for $20 for boarding [I wasn’t going to argue that point with him at the moment], plus $37.50 for you which is $57.50 total a day for her to be in a concrete cell?!”
He explained that because the kennel isn’t booked up, the manager has plenty of time to spend with the dogs and she would be cared for.
Bullshit. I wasn’t taking Missy to a kennel. And, since David just fucked me over leaving Missy with nowhere to go and me having to come with how to make this right with my friends, I wasn’t going to pay him one damn penny.
If nothing else, he should have called me when he had become “booked,” since he said he purposely keeps March light with few dogs and he would be happy to help me out.
I emailed, texted, and called Belinda in a panic. Missy had NOWHERE TO GO and I was leaving in two days, one of which few boarding places are open.
Belinda was infuriated. He called him in an effort to tell him that he had to push someone else to April. That he knew our situation. That he knew I was raising the money. That this was her only option.
He didn’t give a shit. When Belinda brought up that Missy couldn’t go to a kennel due to her issues of trust and her inability to handle new situations well, he didn’t give a shit. “Dogs don’t care if they’re in a home environment or if they’re in a kennel,” he stated to both me and Belinda. In fact, he was a bit condescending about my concern for Missy when he spoke with Belinda.
I don’t want this man even within a city block of Missy. He has NO comprehension of canine emotions and instinct and intellect if he truly believes that a dog doesn’t care if she is secure in a home with a person or alone in a concrete, chain-link box for 23.5 hours a day. He isn’t just an ass; he's a moron.
By noon, the anger had fizzled and been replaced by crisis management. Missy had already had to deal with me sobbing so hard, she probably thought she or I were dying. Missy had licked my face, given me a toy, tried everything in her power to make my happy. Now it was time to let go of the negativity about the situation and move on to solving where this girl was going. Missy would NOT—and I mean NEVER—be trained by David again. But if I didn’t find a suitable place for her by the end of the day, she would end up in a kennel--a perfectly fine kennel mind you, but a kennel nonetheless—the one place I promised myself and Missy that she would never go.
Scouring online, I found another board and train place just north of Burbank. I called Paradise Ranch, explained my issue, and they kindly set up a 3pm appointment after hours for me so that they could assess if they could take Missy in. It would be $107/night for training and boarding, but since they did cage-free group activities, maybe she needed just boarding at $45/night. And this boarding was indoors, in a home-like setting with real beds and people and dogs.
I imagine that what I went through is similar to urban mothers who bring their child into an interview for the top notch kindergarten class in that part of the city. It defines their future. Everything rides on how that kid does alone without mom there to help him. It was the same thing for Missy.
I sat in the lobby filling out her application, and watching her and the trainers on a big screen TV. The surveillance camera looked out over the yard. Missy stood with a male trainer and on the other side of the fence, although I couldn’t see it, they were testing her. I looked up just in time to see a person with a backpack walk by on the other side of the fence from Missy and Missy lunge forward, struggling against her leash and the trainer to get to the man.
She hadn’t done that in over a month... maybe even six weeks. It was like watching the nameless dog I had taken in two months ago, not the evolved Missy who had just been with me five minutes ago. I knew she would lunge at the dog, but I don’t think they even gave her a chance to calm down and try to meet through the barrier. The trainer hung onto her tightly, and Missy thrashed about, even more upset about being restrained. Firstly, I would have given her some sort of direction such as to sit and calm down, or given her the chance to go to the barrier since both parties would be safe, but it didn’t appear that the trainer would. They were testing what Missy would do, given her own devices and decisions. And her decisions were bad ones.
The two trainers, Elias and Cora, came in to discuss how my kid’s interview went. They were very nice, and broke the news to me kindly: Missy had failed.
They had one suite which was not around other dogs, but it was booked. And even then, they’d be hesitant to take her. They couldn’t train her on socialization. The dogs needed to already have that in order to be admitted.
It was this reason that I had originally booked David to train her: so that she would be accepted by more places, once she got over her “not knowing how to talk to dogs” problem. They gave me a couple of leads of people to call, but it was already 4pm on a Friday afternoon. The other place I had inquired about taking her when I initially called David required a half-day assessment and $400 just for that. It was like paying a mechanic to diagnosis your car; I find it immoral.
I called Belinda, and she said, “Okay, well then, we need to start thinking outside the box. I’ll keep working on ideas and you do the same. I am so sorry!”
She knew this was emotionally devastating to me. I just don’t do rescue enough to accept that kenneling is a sad but necessary evil. It saves a physical life, but can drain a soulful life in the process. Missy had never had a person before, not even a home probably. Now that she had had that with me, I couldn’t just bring her to a cage. I knew that it would devastate her, just as much as it would kill me.
So, home I went with my rejected kid who couldn’t get into the best school in the district, to think outside the box. I hadn’t eaten. I probably hadn’t even gone to the bathroom. Crisis mode for me means no physical survival activities are necessary.
I Googled my way into the depths of the internet. Someone in the vast world wide web had to be the answer, the miracle. Maybe David’s assholic move was the pre-miracle, the thing that was necessary to find what Missy really needed and where the next fork in the road was.
I can’t tell you how I happened upon it. It might have been a search for “pet sitter,” but alas came te site that would bring me much needed hope: www.rover.com.
It was set up like www.airbnb.com, which is a site for people renting out their homes to vacationers and short-term stay people. At rover.com, you could find pet sitters that will take your dog in while you're on vacation, or ones who would come to your house.
Well this certainly was outside the box.
I mean, we had thought about paid fosters, but we were looking for the least expensive option if Missy couldn’t be trained. And training really is what she needed.
By the time Belinda came over about 9:00 PM, I had one found person that I thought would be perfect... but she was expensive. It was too good to be true really. I mean, aside from the price.
"Sarah P." was listed as a writer with plenty of time during the day to spend with your dog. She had experience as an apprentice dog trainer, she lived in Glendale, she would stay in your house and take care of house-sitting duties as well... and according to her profile, she was available.
“Call her,” Belinda said. “Call her right now.”
I had to email first, so I set up a profile and emailed her. I had put in the dates of March 10th through May 17th. Granted jobs change, things change, it could be much sooner, or it could be later, but that seemed like a damn close guess for now. And anyway, if Missy got adopted beforehand, we wouldn’t need her services.
Within minutes, I got a reply with her phone number. Her rate was $50/night according to the website, which when considering David was $75/night, and boarding at a kennel was $20 a night, that seemed reasonable. She couldn’t go to cage-free places, so the $50-$60 a night range wasn’t even an option. I was about to call when Belinda and I looked at the left hand side of the screen that gave the total: $50 x 69 nights = $3450.
What?!?!
Little bit of sticker shock. Funny how numbers, the most logical thing on earth, can create such emotion depending on how they’re arranged.
Sarah P. was currently hanging out with a blue pittie she was pet sitting, so I could call her even though it was 10:15 at night. In speaking with her, it really did seem like she was the miracle we had been waiting for. She hadn’t done so long of a gig before. She saw that we needed someone immediately but when she saw the dates, she was like, “Well, geez, I gotta take that!” As any freelancer knows, especially if you’re used to weekend work only, you don’t turn down a ten week job.
Sarah is a writer, and I had mentioned in her email that this was an inspiring place. I loved that she would be around all day, except when she was out walking other dogs—long term clients, five days a week. She was currently querying a book, and was about to start a new one on Monday. Being in a new space, a whole house with a new dog she could train—it was all too perfect for her too.
(It is quite possible that the first book written on these premises to be published may not be mine.)
She had a class to attend on Saturday from 11-5:30 (how to socialize dogs and play groups!), so she said she’d stop in before class. Belinda agreed, and we set up for a 10am meeting Saturday morning.
I still wanted to pursue other avenues, just in case this wasn’t a match (although, let’s face it, neither Belinda nor I could conceive it being otherwise.) In the numbers game, I explained to her that my friends’ money shouldn’t be put toward boarding Missy or just a pet sitter. It should be for training. Of the $50/night, I felt $10 should be mine out of pocket. I didn’t need a full time house sitter, but since she would be making sure the house didn’t fall down (or at least call me immediately if perchance it did), I should pitch in something of my own. Belinda would have been stuck with $20/night had Missy gone to a kennel. That left $30/night remaining that could be taken from the $1000 we had raised.
But should the $1000 be used for this? I was torn. Obviously we needed it. I couldn’t spend every penny of per diem on location to house Missy; I go on location for the added money because it carries me through when I’m unemployed. I needed my per diem. I could sacrifice $10 a day, but no more.
“Well the money could be used for professional training sessions if Sarah is willing to attend. Sounds like she might be. And if she’s a trainer, then Missy is getting training. Look, people donate for the dog, not for the specific cause.”
“But I told them $75 per day, so people contributed days. I don’t want it to be a lie. But now I don’t want her going to David’s even if and when there is room. I’m done with him.”
“Look, things change,” Belinda said. “Your friends are incredibly generous. I wrote all of them a thank you note and all of them responded with how much they wanted to help Missy. This helps Missy. She gets to stay here. She’ll get ten times as much care as she would with David. And some training. Look, do you know what it’s like to raise money for a dog on death row, you get almost all the money, and then the dog gets euthanizd anyway? I’ve contacted the donors and told them and offered to give them the money back and every single one of them will say, ‘No, keep it. Save another.’”
People like to help. I get that. But my word is my honor. If I say I’m going to do something, I’m going to do it. Granted, it wasn’t me but David who fucked up the plan, but as Belinda pointed out: it wasn’t the right plan. She and I fought for it, but the universe clearly had a better solution. Sarah P. was the right path to take... and maybe, just maybe, this gig was the path she needed to take in her life.
Belinda left at 11:15. Both of us were starving and she being a vegan and me leaving in only a few days,meant there were no options for her to eat in my house and few left for me too. I stayed up another three hours searching other profiles on rover.com just in case Sarah wasn’t the answer. Because if she wasn’t, the only alternative for Missy was a concrete cell, and I just couldn’t accept that.
Go with your gut. Always. We want things to work out a certain way, but sometimes what we think we want, isn’t right. I had met with a potential free foster for Missy on Thursday, but she just wasn’t right for her—I felt it in my gut. If I had let Missy go with her, bad things would ensue.
I wanted Sarah to be the right one. I wanted this work. I needed it to work. But above all, my gut instinct had to direct me to accept her. Saturday morning, I found myself telling her about how things worked in the house as we did the tour, rather than just giving a tour. I found myself telling her what I did with Missy, rather than asking what she would do. Missy already adored her: this woman came with a fanny pack full of scrumptious goodness; how could Missy not look up at her lovingly and do whatever she asked? When Missy jumped on her, Sarah turned away, exactly what you’re supposed to do to tell the dog that’s not acceptable. From the first step into the house, Sarah had the job.
Belinda came (bearing a coffee and croissant for me – if I haven’t mentioned it before, Belinda is utterly awesome!) after Sarah had arrived, so she and I hadn’t had time to discuss money or a how to interview her. Belinda spent some time playing tug with Missy while Sarah and I walked around the house and talked. After all, this wasn’t just going to be a caretaker and trainer for Missy; this woman would be watching over of the single most expensive investment of my life: my house.
(Interesting to note: when writing up my instructions on how to care for my precious charges, my house notes tally three pages; Missy runs six pages single-spaced.)
If Belinda and I were infinitely wealthy, Sarah would have moved in that moment. But Belinda hasn’t won a game show yet, and I haven’t sold the rights to my first book... so, we’re a little protective of our money. Sarah offered first: Three grand for the whole shebang. That was $450 savings, which was enormous, but still more than Belinda or I had in our back pocket. It wasn’t that we didn’t think she was worth it; she totally was. She wasn’t just a housesitter or pet sitter... she was a full out replacement me.
She had to get to class, so we told her we’d talk and call or text her in an hour or so. Belinda and I sat down, and we began playing with those logical symbols we call numbers, and tried to keep our emotion out of it. Of the thousand raised, almost every dollar was from my friends. Belinda’s friends hadn’t contributed yet. Even though she and I both hit all our networks with the site, my friends came through first--probably because I had never asked for money before. Time, moral support, a good thought here and there, sure, but never actual mullah.
The fact was, Sarah was worth it. David would have given her a crate in a house and 30 minutes a day of training. She would have been around other dogs, but it would have been stressful for her to make the transition. I didn’t realize how stressful until I saw her on video at Paradise Ranch. This allowed Missy the consistency of staying in the same place, it gave me someone to be using the house and keeping it occupied, and Missy would get training... Sarah wasn’t certified yet, but she had knowledge and wanted to use it. But above and beyond all that, I believe that Sarah will truly care for Missy. She will invest in her emotionally and intellectually. Missy will get to snooze on the couch in the morning, sleep nights on the bed, wander the house, sunbathe on the deck, and just be—that thing dogs do so well. She’ll just have a different caregiver... a better one in fact: Stephanie 2.0, the novelist and dog trainer/pet sitter, not Stephanie Beta, not-yet-published writer and dog emergency foster/transporter.
At some point during this whole crisis, Belinda asked me, “Have you read The Untethered Soul?”
“No, but I’m guessing you’re telling me I should untether my soul and be open to possibility,” I said as I rubbed my head, trying to ignore my empty stomach and hopeless heart.
She was right though: I had to let go, succumb to the ocean waves, let the universe carry me to those distant island shores.
“David did the biggest favor for us. Missy wasn’t meant to go to him. She needs to be here.”
Belinda is right. My gut is right. I’m hoping Belinda can raise the remaining funds. In the meantime, we have enough to get started, and if Missy does get adopted before the 10 weeks is up, we’ve all agreed to one week’s severance pay for Sarah so she doesn’t lose money by refusing other jobs.
I leave in twelve hours. Sarah will be here, probably in her pajamas and a baseball cap, as the cab rolls up to take me to the airport at 6:20 AM. I’ll say my goodbye to Missy and pass the leash, and the life, over to Sarah.
I don’t know how the little lady will handle it. I’m hoping she’ll easily transfer the trust and the bond over to Sarah. This is new for me; having to walk away before I’ve found the entrance to the path she should be on. Or maybe I should just accept that this, here, and now with Sarah, is precisely where I was supposed to take Missy all along.
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