I sleep around with dogs

the intimate diary of a paid professional

My true confession…

When you live in a small town, word soon gets out if you sleep around. People notice details when the population is tiny. Few secrets are kept. The grapevine is fruitful, lush, and ripe.

My car is seen parked in front of different houses at all hours. People see me walking down the street with my “friend.” Early in the morning, at dusk, sometimes late at night. Even in broad daylight. Sets the tongues to wagging.

Pretty soon, people start asking questions; making inquiries. Comparing notes. My name is given out – and my phone number. Previous clients sing my praises, tell others I’m good, very good. Then, when the need arises, I get the call. From a stranger. Once again, I’m being asked to sleep around. I answer the call. Can’t help myself. Call me shameless; but I find it hard to say no. My overnight bag is soon packed and off I go, to tend to the personal needs of another lonely heart.

Some are young and frisky. Full of frolic. They can wear me out, though I like to play games, too. Other clients are elderly, but sweet – and often worldly and sophisticated. They’re been around the block a time or two. Young, old, tall, short, pudgy, whippet-thin, athletic. I tend to them all. In exchange for a fee, I will sleep with them all. Sometimes with more than one at a time – does that shock you?

Taking care of them is my life’s work. My vocation. Clients ring me, text me, e-mail me and I answer their call. You see, I am a passionate pet-sitter. I sleep around with dogs. And, on occasion, cool cats.

This is my story. But this is very much their story. The story of all my four-footed bed-mates. All their intimate details revealed. The fuzzy and the fluffy, the wiry-coiffed and the sleek and the silky. From whom I’ve learned so much – both in and out of bed.

They’ve shared their secrets with me – after their people had departed on traveling adventures.

You’ll find me much more discrete about my two-footed bed-mate; I’ve mated for life. And I don’t kiss and tell. Except here, about dogs – and cats – with whom I’ve slept. Ready to romp? Me, too. Let’s proceed to pull back the covers…

How I became a pet-sitter

I wish I could tell you that I entered this profession after careful and thoughtful deliberation. That I ran the numbers, constructed spreadsheets, and performed a thorough market and competitive analysis.

But that would be lying. That wasn’t it at all. Not by a long shot. My sleeping with dogs was a heart-journey, not a bean-counting, cold-hearted business decision.

It all began after my dog died.

If you’ve lost a dog to age or illness or accident, I don’t have to tell you how very painful this is. A kick in the stomach, a big hole in the heart. Grief that knows no bounds. Hearing the patter of paw steps that aren’t there. Feeling a nose nudge for pets or treats that seems real but cannot be, as your dog has gone.

My dog, Regal, had left me at age 14. Too torn up to consider another dog, even though kind friends tempted me with dogs and links and phone numbers to dogs needing a new home, I just couldn’t. It was self-protection. I just couldn’t go through that pain again. Cowardly of me, I know. But I just wasn’t ready.

When would I be ready? I didn’t know. There was a hole in my heart as big as Texas. A Regal-sized hole. He wasn’t just any dog – he’d been my four-footed pal for 14 years. We’d traveled many a mile together – had moved from the West Coast to the East Coast together.

Now he was gone.

He left a huge paw-print to fill. For the first time in our married life, my husband and I were dog-less. A big, gaping hole yawned before us. But we were not ready to fill it. We figured the time would come. The right dog would appear. But me without a dog was a woman without a purpose; without a reason to be. So I morphed into a pet-sitter. It was organic; not planned.

First a friend asked me to sit her dog. Then another friend. And soon friends-of-friends began to call me. One dog at a time came into our home. Or I stayed at the dog’s home. There were cats, too. They filled my lap and my heart with warm purrs. My husband was fully aboard with the pet-sitting, for he missed Regal as much as I did. We loved each canine guest as if it were our own.

That’s how I became Aunt Patty, CPO (Chief Petting Officer) of Aunt Patty Pet-care. And here I am. Complete once again. I am in loco parentis. A substitute dog mom until a dog’s humans return. The humans relax; enjoy their travels. They know their beloved dog is in good hands. Hands that know all the best places for petting and scratching. Aunt Patty’s got them covered.

And if they – the dogs – want to sleep with me, what can I say? I’m easy.

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Patty Frank

Wishing you much joy, one meatball at a time. Hope you enjoyed this post. Please share your comments/thoughts. Always, Patty