I’m back dog-sitting for some friends of my parents (and of mine, too). The dog’s name is Millie and she’s a 15-year old PBGV (which stands for Petit Basset Griffon Vendéen). She’s a gentle old soul who’s a joy to take care of.
When I take her walking, she always tries to introduce herself to any of the dogs we pass by. Or humans. She doesn’t discriminate. She likes to go up to people’s doorsteps, and she’d probably ring the doorbell if she could reach it. She’s that friendly.
I love the way she can be totally alert one moment and be asleep and snoring the next. I don’t mean “cute and petite little animal” kind of snoring. I mean “old man with serious sinus issues” kind of snoring.
She loves her some treats and will sometimes sit in front of me and whine and look pitiful until I almost have to give her one. She acts like she hasn’t eaten in days, even when I just fed her. She’s crafty like that.
Having a pet makes life better. There’s nothing like coming home to a furry face that’s excited to see you and that never gets tired of you. I come home to a feline, but I like dogs, too. Their love is simple and pure, a basic cupboard kind of love that seeks the simple pleasures. They will love you, no matter what.
It’s too bad that animals don’t live as long as people. You get so attached to them that when you say your final goodbyes, it’s like saying goodbye to a piece of your heart.
I do enjoy dog sitting. I hope to be able to take care of more dogs (and possibly even a few cats) in the future. Plus, I really hope I can come take care of Millie again in the future.