I look at my watch and swear. “Oh shit. I gotta go, Olivia. Sorry. I’ll call you later. I have to hurry back and send a proof of life to Archie’s owner.”
“Proof of what?” she asks.
“Proof of life. I send a photo of Archie and a brief message checking in every day.”
“That’s sweet. He must really miss his dog. Okay, I’ll let you go. Love you.”
“You too, babe.”
Luckily, we’re already almost home, and we hike up the ridiculous hill of a driveway in record time.
When we enter the house, Archie makes a beeline for the cupboard with the bones.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, buddy. You’ll get your treat after the photo.”
To keep things interesting, I’ve challenged myself to make the daily photo fun. I’ve been accessorizing the pictures of Archie, giving him a different persona in each. I took his picture in the bath two days ago, with his fur slicked up, bubbles surrounding him.
The messages have also become one of my favorite parts of the day. The initial dry and professional texts back and forth regarding Archie’s welfare were so boring that I couldn’t helpspicing them up, in addition to the photos. Luckily, the owner doesn’t seem to mind my casual and creative approach.
I open my text messages and select his number, which I saved into my phone as Archie’s Daddy. I read through some of the texts we’ve sent with a smile. The ones from that first day on the job always crack me up. He was so stuffy. Just as I imagine an East Coast billionaire to be. But I wore him down. I know I should have been more serious and professional. But I believe you should begin as you mean to go on. Let’s face it. Serious, I am not. And never will be.
Archie’s Daddy:
This is Archie’s owner. I expect you to give me daily updates on how you and the dog are doing, including a photo. You can send them to this phone number.
Me:
Hi, Archie’s owner! It’s nice to “meet” you. So what you’re saying is you want daily proof of life.
Archie’s Daddy:
Proof of what?
Me:
Proof of life. You know, like kidnappers send. You want photographic evidence that Archie’s still alive and kicking.
Archie’s Daddy:
I’d like an update, yes, including a photo. Also, as my pet sitter, I expect you to spend most of your time with Archie. He doesn’t like to be alone.
Me:
Well, that’s perfect. Because… Same. I hate to be alone. Archie and I will keep each other company. It sounds like we’re both people persons.
Archie’s Daddy:
Are you saying that my dog is a people…person?
Me:
Oh, you know what I mean. Fine. He’s a people dog. And I’m a people person and also a dog person. So we’ll get along great.
Archie’s Daddy:
Please don’t forget to send me the updates. Also, Archie likes his belly rubbed. And he has an addiction to shoes. I’m warning you to hide yours.
Me:
