The thing about dogsitting is that you will get sucked into the whole dogcentric world. So that when you receive an email on a Monday morning titled "FRENCH BULLDOG EMERGENCY", not 24 hours later, your house will be filled with snorting. It will not matter that you already have 5 rabbits, it will not matter that you have not had a dog in 15 years, it will not matter that said dog, come to you straight from Death Row of the pound, is the smelliest critter the world has ever known. What will matter is that you will get to teach a small, broken, terrified dog how to snuggle. You, a staunch vegetarian, will cook chicken and beef in order to get the little dog to allow you to give her needed medicine, and also because she cannot believe that her world now includes chicken. And belly rubs.

In return, she will curl up in your lap while you cry your eyes out after learning she may be put down for being too scared to let the vet examine her, she will give snorty kisses, crawl through the front lawn with a smile, and watch a Simon and Simon marathon without complaint (she just dreams of riding in the Power Wagon).

And then it's time for her to move on. She needs more help than you can give her, and a miracle happens. She gets taken in by a dog trainer in Michigan who owns her own dog park, thinks she's adorable when she's destroying laundry baskets, lets her sleep in the bed, investigate the pond, make new puppy friends,

and is thinking of keeping her.

Sweet dreams, Dinky.