The accidental rehomer

This piece of writing is not a review. Far from it. It’s the story of how, in the face of many obstacles and a fair amount of worry, I found the right care for my rescue dog. I’m a born story teller and I’m driven to tell my story to people who are interested in rehoming a dog or a cat and to people who like foreign travel; because you can like and do both! I also want to encourage more people to rehome dogs and cats from rescue centres. I want that a lot.

Rehoming Max was in some ways like an accidental pregnancy, by a couple intending to start a family, but not for a few years! My husband ‘G’ and I had agreed that we would rehome a Battersea dog around the time I retire. Of course, the universe often has others plans for you (that’s if you believe in the universe having plans for you!) In my case, it was my job that led me to rehoming Max, our scrumptious and somewhat complicated eight-year-old Yorkshire Terrier who likes his routine and his toy box to be ‘just as he likes it’. Max doesn’t compromise or negotiate. If Max were a human he would be a stroppy, overpaid but adored Premier League football player.

Back to the floor

As Head of Volunteering & Fostering for Battersea Dogs & Cats Home the best animal welfare charity in the world (not that I’m biased) I think it’s important that I really do understand the roles my volunteers take on. So, I like to shadow, pitch up, join in, learn from and generally get closer to my volunteers and foster carers. Fairly easy with Battersea’s volunteers, as I can talk to a volunteer who is walking a dog, call in at the cattery, bob along to a bucket collection or meander across muddy fields to an event.

It’s not so easy to understand the fostering experience, as I can hardly ask to move in for two days! So, my ‘back to the floor’ on fostering is actually fostering an animal which I have now done twice, although I should have known, that I might not be actually cut out for fostering because I don’t like it when people give me their plants to look after, when they go away and they then have the audacity to ask for them back when they return! Last year I fostered a 7-week-old kitten for a short while and I bonded with him so much that I sobbed all the way in to work, when I had to bring him back. If there is a cautionary tale about not taking your work home, I’m that tale. 

Back to Max and how we came to give him his forever home

My husband, the lovely if not long suffering ‘G’ told me that he was going away on a secular Buddhist retreat. He asked me if I would be okay while he was away. I told him that I was going to be “very happy and very busy”. The reason for my cheeriness was because I had put myself forward to foster a dog, while G was busy being Zen somewhere in Devon. It was important to me to experience dog fostering first hand so that I can look Battersea foster carers in the eye when they describe some of the challenges of fostering a dog. There are plenty of joys too such as taking your dog on nice long walks and I pictured myself taking early evening walks by the river and engaging in doggy conversations with other humans and their dogs. (Please make sure you read the right sentence correctly – I said ‘doggy’ conversations not ‘dodgy’ conversations!)  

I knew that fostering a dog would mean that in future I would be able to nod sagely when someone described an aspect of their foster dog’s behaviour and I would be able to share my own insights and opinions. I felt that my own learning and development was going to take a big leap forward.

G was surprisingly agreeable to me fostering a dog and so I contacted the foster coordinators at Battersea and asked them to tell me of any suitable dogs for the dates I was available. I was told of a few but none of them seemed like they would be happy with my daily commute by train from Windsor to Battersea, London.

For a while I thought it might not happen as I envisaged and then I happened upon the opportunity to take on a ‘medical foster’. Medical fosters tend to be animals recovering from surgery or with some long-term issues like skin complaints. A dog has to be completely well and happy before they can be rehomed so there are always a number of dogs at Battersea that are not available to be rehomed until they are fit and well.

I met Max (a medical dog) when he was moonlighting as an ‘office dog’. Max had skin problems, issues with his ears and had been suffering with a dodgy tummy. He was also getting quite stressed in his kennels and barked a lot at most other dogs. He had been gifted to Battersea because his owner was ill and he was struggling in his kennel. Dogs who aren’t coping well in kennels often spend time in the office where their sole purpose is to distract staff from their work, bark when you are on the phone, empty your handbag when you are not looking and pee up the coat rack. To be promoted to office dog is a great honour in the dog world. An office dog’s job is quite simple. An office dog is a warrior!

 Max took his responsibilities seriously and had developed a reputation for trying to eat paper clips, squeaking toys continuously and following my colleagues to the kitchen area, in case someone dropped a micro crumb from their sandwich or biscuit. To be absolutely frank when Max first met me he wasn’t that bothered. And quite rightly as he was the darling of the Marketing Department and he had ridiculously big ears that made him all the more loveable. After a robust interview with a foster coordinator I was allowed to foster Max. I also got to foster him a week earlier than planned so G had five days of getting to know him. Max was off the substitute bench and playing centre forward. All I had to do was get him home so that G could meet him.

Train spotting   

The first time I took Max home was a bit of a test. On his extensive record there was no mention of how he copes on trains, but no worries because Max jumped on the Queenstown Road to Clapham Junction like a lifelong season ticket holder. He then jumped straight on a seat and put his front legs up against a window to enjoy the view. Later I walked him from the station to my car and again no problems. He just sat there like a furry lady Penelope waiting for me to start the engine. I was mighty relieved that he could cope so well with cars and public transport as both are key features in my life.

Max on foster

I will never forget taking Max into our home for the first time. G came out to meet him and if Max was human he would have said “Great to meet you, show me around.” We took Max through to the garden and he went out, explored, had a long pee and came in. He then looked at G for a good long while. I explained that he wants his dinner and G immediately complied. I’m sure Max was thinking ‘Well that bit of training didn’t take long!’   

It was a blissful experience and I turned into the equivalent of the obsessed new mum noting exactly what he had eaten, when he had done a poo, consistency and colour of said poo, giving him his special medicated baths and generally watching and oohing and aahing over his every move. Maxi in turn revelled in his new environment. He was a perfect little creature who enjoyed being stroked as much a solo snooze. Everything was a delightful adventure and we even saw a rare butterfly land on the end of his nose to make friends. OK I lied about the butterfly, but hopefully you get the idea of the domestic idyll I’m describing. For me, every hour he spent with us was a delight and a gift. I could also see G warming to Max and Max was courting G.

Slowly, but surely, Max was charming us both. I had fallen completely head over heels in love with him. On the third day he was with us G turned to me and said four life changing words. G said, “He can’t go back”. I thought I was going to faint with delight. I made G repeat what he said while I skipped around.

I momentarily considered asking G to put it in writing, but then realised that this was not something he could easily change his mind about. Instead, I practiced slow breathing. The next day I went into work and shared my news far and wide. I was interviewed by another colleague and after what seemed like an eternity I was told that when Max was medically fit I could rehome him and he would be our forever dog. It was honestly one of the best moments of my entire life. Somewhere, I could hear an orchestra playing and that butterfly landed on my nose and winked at me. Okay the butterfly doesn’t exist in real life, but he does feature in my imagination.

The Failed Foster Carer Club

A week later Max was declared fit and well and I signed on the dotted line. He was now Max Fielder and officially ours. I don’t think there are enough words to describe how I felt taking him properly home. He might look like a little ragamuffin, but he’s our dream dog. However rehoming Max meant I had joined the ‘Failed Foster Carers Club’ an exclusive club for those who fall in love with their foster dogs and then rehome them. It looks terrible for foster carer retention figures, but it’s a 100% successful outcome for the dog and as my boss says, ‘when you rehome one dog you make a space for another!’

 Meanwhile back at home

The first few days were brilliant. My daughter came home from her three months travels around south-east Asia and she tripped over her heels too. Honestly, we were like some advert for domestic harmony and toothpaste. We all sat around the crowned Prince Max, smiling with happiness and there were bands playing and butterflies everywhere.

And as thrilled as I was to have Max permanently in our lives there was a worrying thought that kept occurring. That thought had a word attached and that word was the ‘H-word’. In the midst of all our enjoyment I knew that I had to face up to the fact that many months before Max the Magnificent came into our lives G had booked a two-week holiday in Cyprus and we had just over a month to find a dog care solution.

The deliberations

I always thought that denial was a river in Egypt, but it turns out that denial is days passing by and being frozen with worry about how your new rescue dog would cope with you going away. I sought advice and everyone agreed that I would need to sort it out or cancel.

I decided to post a question on Facebook and see what my Facebook friends came up with. I mentioned that boarding kennels was not an option and Max doesn’t like other dogs. As I could have predicted the first ten replies were responses that reads something like this “Sorry to hear this Hun. I’d have him, but I’ve already got; (choose anyone of the following names) Tyson, Edward, Bailey, Barney, Rumi, Harvey, Bowie, Oscar’.

So, my biggest hurdle was that my friends who really love dogs (and have a dog friendly homes) already have their own dogs. And then a lovely lady, who I have known for years, said she would have him in her house. At first, I was delighted and agreed but perhaps a bit too readily because I then began to notice that Max wasn’t that keen on going out. When I left for work in the morning he would hurtle back down the hall and get into his bed, as I opened the front door in case I was planning to take him somewhere. Sometimes on walks, he would stop and I would have to carry him back home. Also, he would get stupidly excited upon arriving home from car journeys and stand up at the front door demanding to be let in. Once in he would run around checking that all his toys were where he left them. I realised that the solution was not sending somewhere else, because that would have been his third new environment in three months and I just couldn’t do it to him.

I returned to all the Facebook comments and a colleague had suggested that we get a house sitter and specifically mentioned ‘TrustedHousesitters’ who are a company that support Battersea. They are quite an unusual because you don’t pay the sitter. The house sitter looks after your house in exchange for accommodation. It’s a lovely concept because the house sitters are NOT doing it for financial gain. For more information on TrustedHousesitters look up https://www.trustedhousesitters.com

I have been married to G for long enough to know that ‘his home is his castle’, that he values his privacy and was unlikely to agree. Never the less I asked him and G replied, “Over my dead body.” I knew, at that stage that my negotiating position was weak. I asked him to think about it and G looked as if he was going to cover up his ears, close his eyes and sing ‘la, la, la, la’ loudly. I absolutely knew he didn’t want to discuss house sitters trusted or otherwise.

Undeterred, I discussed it with another colleague at work who told me how wonderful TrustedHousesitters are and if I could just persuade G just to look at the website… So I came home from work and sat with G and feeling buoyed up my colleague telling me how fabulous TrustedHousesitters are I got quite bullish with G and insisted that he wouldn’t spontaneously combust by clicking onto the website. To his credit and to my delight G agreed that looking at the website was a possibility. He typed in TrustedHousesitters and he was impressed with the layout of the website.

 He started looking at sitter profiles and happened upon someone who shares very similar interests to himself i.e. Buddhism, mindfulness, and meditation and so on. G then turned to me and said in a very low voice “I will only do this, if this person can do it.” I was elated and showed my delight by jumping around the room, punching the air and shouting, “Game on”. I only express this level of delight when things are generally very pleasing to me. Getting a seat on the train would not elicit this response.

So, I phoned TrustedHousesitters straight away and explained that I needed to know if G’s chosen person was available and that there was no point in me registering if she wasn’t, because my husband was adamant that only this one particular person could house sit. The lovely guy who took my call was worldly and it was clear that he was used to dealing with people whose stress levels were at the ‘go and have a lie down in a dark room’ end of the scale. He promised me that he would phone the wondrous person G had selected and let me know if she was available. He emailed her straight away and called me back to say that unfortunately she couldn’t cover our house sit. That was a bit of a yellow card for me.

 I was disappointed, but still in the game. I went into work next day and tracked down my colleague. Luckily, she was at her desk, otherwise I might have gate crashed her meeting. Even more luckily, she took command of the situation realising that where Max is concerned I’m just a mushy brained forever human. So, she spoke to me very sl-ow-ly and calmed me to the point where I just repeated what she said. She explained that Angela, the social media manager for TrustedHousesitters was also a house sitter and what Angela didn’t know about house sitting a butterfly could carry on his wings.

So, I returned to my office and phoned Angela. It was quite possibly one of the best calls I’ve ever made because Angela explained to me all the reasons why her and her colleagues believe that a house sitter is the best type of care for rescue animals and why her and her husband would do a wonderful job. My faith in Angela was absolute.

She also explained how TrustedHousesitters work and I felt soothed and reassured. When I arrived home, G must have read the expression on my face. It was a sort of ‘If we don’t talk right now aliens will abduct me’. So I blurted out the content of my conversation with Angela ending up with a sentence that sounded like an ultimatum (which in a way was exactly what it was). Upon hearing, me say ‘So if we don’t book Angela and her husband John, we’re not going to Cyprus’.

The decision

G is a remarkable person and after what seemed like an eternal silence explained he would do it, but only because it was in Max’s best interest. I paused only so that my words weren’t drowned out by the London Symphony Choir singing the Hallelujah Chorus in our sitting room. Again, I was humbled by my husband’s response. I knew that G cared for Max as much as me and knew what a home bird Max had turned into.

I couldn’t wait to tell Angela and we agreed that from that point I would sign up to TrustedHousesitters in the same way as anyone else which I was relieved and pleased to do. I went on to the website and created an account. I completed my home listing (my profile). This is the part where you describe what you want such as ‘I am looking for a sitter to care for my highly-strung pet tiger and my 50 rats. I live in a house that is said to be haunted and the electricity is intermittent.’

Writing this part was surprisingly easy because Max is such a sweetie and I know that our house having benefitted from a recent refurbishment is a proper home with lots of squidgy, comfortable seating and is near lots of places of interest.

However, your house doesn’t have to be a palace. It just needs to be somewhere clean and comfortable where potential house sitters would like to stay and look after your animals.

After completing my profile, I sent a request to Angela asking if her and her husband John were available and she replied that there were. Just for good measure I read all of Angela and John’s reviews and fully appreciated how appreciated how much effort and love they put into their house sits. I also looked at some of the other sitter’s reviews. It became clear that TrustedHousesitters has a winning formula

The next stage

A day or so later, I received an email from TrustedHousesitters asking me to complete my home guide. This is something you need to take great care completing as this tells your sitter everything about your pet and your home. You must have all the details of your vet, key telephone numbers at the ready because it is essential that the TrustedHousesitters are fully briefed. It took time to complete and at one point I thought applying to join the NASA space programme might have been quicker. However, it also made me realise that I was dealing with a company who takes its responsibilities very seriously. I was actually very pleased that they wanted the name of the midwife who was present at my birth! Ok I exaggerate slightly.

Getting my house ready

I’m the type of person who cleans my house from top to bottom before I go on holiday in case I am consumed by an alligator while away, in which case I would like whoever comes into my house to sigh wistfully at my photo as they run a finger along a work unit and say, “it’s so sad that she wasn’t able to return to such a clean and tidy house”.

My sense of domestic pride kicked in with full force and I’m rather glad it did because I think it’s important that your house is clean, tidy and presentable for your house sitters. I went the extra mile by buying new towels, clearing out a wardrobe and the drawer in my bedside cabinet and packing up what might be sentimental knick knacks to me, but might resemble clutter to someone else. In the meantime, G wrote out user guides on how everything works from the dishwasher to remote controls for the TVs. It took a while, but I put myself in the shoes of my house sitters. I wanted them to be able to concentrate on Max and not have to worry about the weird noise the washing machine makes. You do need to be quite organised. If you are a natural list maker then it’s a heavenly experience.

After I had everything under control I started packing for my holiday – a slight less enjoyable experience as G insists on weighing our suitcases and half the books and my large bottle of alligator repellent had to be removed, so that a baggage handler can lift my suitcase without slipping three discs. Max looked on with interest but packing clearly wasn’t his thing.

The night before

Somewhat rashly I decided to work the day before we went on holiday which meant that my final preparations were bordering on manic as I scrubbed and cleaned my bathroom to the point where you could carry out surgical procedures. We had also invited Angela and John to arrive the night before so that they could meet Max, familiarise themselves with our home and so that us four humans could meet. I had decided to make Shepherd’s Pie. In fact, I made two Shepherd’s Pies, one with meat for G and John and a vegetarian pie one for Angela and me. I am a domestic Goddess in the making!

Although it felt like a lot to do the night before you go away there something very nice about eating a freshly cooked meal and sitting across the table. It’s the breaking of bread that bonds people together and over that meal we became ‘Team Max’.

I had been very honest with Angela and told her all about G’s reservations and that even though he had agreed he still had an inner struggle. Angela is a very wise woman and she had met people before who had similar worries and concerns. So, while G was coaching John on which key opens what door, how to operate the electric blinds and giving him the most important info of all the WIFI code Angela and I continued to grow our relationship.

That night G and I vacated the master bedroom so that Angela and John could have exclusive use of the

en-suite bathroom and we moved into our daughter’s bedroom which she had handily vacated to return to university. Angela and John went up to bed before Gary and me leaving us to have some quality time with Max. My heart was already aching.

Saying goodbye

The alarm clock went off at 04.00 because our cab was arriving at 04.50 and I obviously I had to clean the second bathroom with vigour. G went downstairs to make tea and I could hear him talking to Max. They were having a man to man talk. G was telling Max to be a good boy and that before long we would be back. I came downstairs and I had a similar conversation with Max, but he just wagged his tail and stood by his food cupboard, in case in the midst of all the early morning cleaning activity, a treat might be offered.

G placed our suitcases and carry-on bags by the door and I felt my heart sink. I reminded myself that Max was happy at home and here he was wagging his tail and being his delightful self. We weren’t taking him to boarding kennels or to strangers. I told myself that he would have a great time with Angela and John and as soon as one of them opened the food cupboard they would be the best human ever!

We heard the cab arrive and Gary carried our baggage outside. Max looked at us and did exactly what he does when I go to work and walked to the furthest part of the hall and sat there. He looked at us both as if to say, “I don’t know where you’re going, but I’m staying here’. I was so relieved to see him to this. He didn’t hurtle down the hall and attach himself to our trouser legs and nor did he stand up at the door barking. In that moment that I knew everything was going to be okay. However, I would need to remind myself of that moment while I was away.  

I promised myself that I wasn’t going to contact Angela until we had arrived in Cyprus and not a minute before. I was very firm with myself. There was absolutely no way I was going to trouble her. We only live ten minutes from Terminal 5, at Heathrow and so we were there at 05.00 on the dot. Check-in was super speedy and so were the security checks. I kept looking at my watch and told myself that the very earliest I could text Angela was 06.00, just in case her phone was on (as I didn’t want to wake her). At 05.41 I caved in and messaged Angela with the photo of Max in our hall, taken just before we left….

As we waited for our flight to be called I felt anxious and decided that the best way to deal with anxiety was to go and buy snacks. Heathrow is full of vendors selling snacks. I bought loads. I could see how my separation anxiety would play out. Troubling thoughts about Max equals half a pack of crisps. Worrying about if his skin would flare up equals a handful of dried apricots. Yep, I am a person who eats my emotions so a bag full of goodies seemed like good preparation.

Fasten your seatbelts please

Once on board aircraft I realised that there was no turning back. We were off on our holiday. G was totally calm and measured about it, as he is with most things in life. When I asked him how he felt about house sitters being in our house he said that he was perfectly ok, so long as he didn’t think about it.

He explained that his focus is on wherever he is at the time and that he wasn’t going to spend his whole holiday thinking about what was happening at home. I totally agreed with G. He’s so Zen. While waiting for the safety film to start I tried some mindfulness and I concentrated on my breathing. Absolute waste of time as the man next to me kept burping, so I decided to think about Max and how much time and love Angela and John were going to devote to him. That was my version of meditation and it worked for me.

Arriving at our hotel 

G had sent an email to the hotel telling them that we were celebrating our 25th wedding anniversary. He must have sprinkled magic fairy dust on the keys because when we checked in the receptionist told us we had been given a suite. I was ecstatic.

The room didn’t disappoint as we had a shower that could fit eight people, a large balcony and a bottle of fizz had been left on ice. G is very existential and often reminds me of the importance of living in the moment because none of know what might happen next. On that basis, he popped the cork and we sat on the balcony looking out to sea and marvelling at what a nice hotel we were in, how lovely the staff were and how good the world is.

However, I’m not G and he is not me. We are two different people who rub along really well. Whilst G could compartmentalise and think about Cyprus and what we going to do there I found myself thinking about home and Max so I was delighted when that afternoon Angela sent me three delightful photos of Max entitled ‘Team Max.’

The first photo showed him sitting on our sofa with his favourite toy looking bonny. A few minutes later another pic arrived of Max standing by a work unit, as John was preparing food. This is what he does every day with G in the hope that G might throw him a lump of cheese – so I had photographic evidence that Max was not off his food. A third photo arrived of Max sitting next to John in the office. This is exactly what Max does with us. G runs a business from home so during the day Max lies next to G’s chair and snoozes. I suppose you could say he’s a sleeping partner. These lovely photos on our first day gave me all the reassurance I needed. I knew that Max’s world had not stopped turning because we had gone away. He was still doing his normal things, that he had company; he was being fed, walked and entertained by two people who genuinely love dogs. 

Settling into our own routines

G and I have our own settling in routines on holiday. Mine involves claiming ownership of most of the wardrobe space and finding the nearest shop to buy 6 litres of water. G’s routine involves asking where he might hang his clothes and complaining about the weight of the bottles of water.

Tiredness had really crept up on us both. I had a long week of cleaning, packing and working long days. G had been busy with his client work. He’s a counsellor and life coach and really cares about his clientele. So we slept solidly that first night. In fact, I slept so deeply I was convinced that I was at home and I was wondering if G was downstairs letting Max out for his morning wee. However, as I woke up I realised that G was on his way to the pool to lay claim to two sun beds, the fancy mattresses that go on the sun beds, an umbrella a little table. He was a man on a mission. I joined him a few hours later and he had set up base camp. G was so happy and bursting with holiday excitement. It was infectious. He reminded that we both work our respective butts off and it was now our time to have a good time and let everything take care of itself.

I explained that I had set up a ‘Team Max’ WhatsApp group which he said was fine, but he wasn’t going to use it. He said he didn’t need to see photos of Max to know he was being cared for. I explained that I did need to see pics and we agreed that we were both happy doing what we wanted to do. The good thing about being married to a psychotherapist is that each person gets an opportunity to discuss their thoughts and presents their points of view and then you get on with life, but being respectful and considerate of your differences.    

So, I embarked upon my daily WhatsApp conversation with Angela. She was very considerate in how she worded her messages, checking that I did genuinely want to see pics of Max. It’s very important to be honest about the frequency of contact and what you would like to be made aware of. Angela and I were really honest with each other.  

 And so for the next 14 days I received a couple of photos a day of Max doing everything he normally does, of him on walks, having cuddles, walking round the garden, playing with his toys and being Max. She also sent me some cute videos which clearly demonstrated that Max was in charge of operations. From time to time I would send Angela a message or asked a question and she answered promptly. I could not have asked for more. Max was ruling the roost and not sitting in a corner gazing forlornly at the wall. He was in charge and waiting to be called up to play for his country.

All good things must come to an end

G and I had an exceptional holiday. I enjoyed the perfect homemade houmous, read five books and sat on the balcony and wrote a presentation to give at a conference I was presenting at upon my return. G got more and tanned, read books, arranged trips and took photos of stray cats and kittens. Together we swam in the sea, took long walks, sampled Cyprus beer, listened to music and had probably one of the best holidays ever.

I also found myself liberated on social media. Normally I go quiet on social media when I’m away because I don’t want to advertise to the world that my house is empty. When you have house sitters you don’t have to worry because there are people there and in our case a dog who will bark at the rustle of a single leaf, never mind a footstep on the drive - so consequently I was able to tweet and post to my heart’s content. Although to be honest most of my tweets were about pleased I was to know that Max was being well cared for!      

 I also realised that as the days passed by, that although I missed Max I was fully engaged with my holiday. I wasn’t wishing away the sunshine, boat trips, warm evenings, beautiful sunsets and walks. Nor was I sitting there munching my snacks, so you will be pleased to know that I actually brought some of our snacks back home.  

The final home coming arrangements were easy. Your house sitters will do what you ask them to do. So, if you want them to stay until you return they’ll oblige. We did as suggested by Angela who thoughtfully suggested that we might want to return home to an empty house, to be reunited with Max on our own. Angela and I exchanged many messages on this topic. Angela made it clear that they only leave the house when they know you are airborne and most of the way home. She explained that she tracks the flights. As we got ready to take off, I messaged her and as we landed there was a message to say that they stayed with Max until 9pm which meant he was only on his own for 1.5 hours which he is used to.

Our cab was waiting for outside Terminal 5 and excitement was building in me. When we opened the inner door to our hall we realised that Max had been asleep and as he woke up and realised we were home he did his normal welcome routine which is magical and hilarious as it involves a lot of skidding across our floor and us having to wait for a ceremonial toy to be presented. G and I fell upon Max and we hugged and kissed him and rolled around on the floor with him for a long time. What a heavenly reunion.

Then I noticed the house. It was absolutely spotless. Angela and John had left the most beautiful flowers together with a ‘welcome home mummy and daddy’ card from Max. All the laundry had been done and Angela and John had changed the sheets so that we could sleep in our own bed. They had also bought us milk, bread and butter so we were able to have tea and toast with a big blob of G’s homemade jam. What a fabulous welcome home.

As it was late we wanted to get to bed. Max settled down quickly. We got up early the next morning to put our washing on and get ourselves straight. Max entertained us by climbing in an empty suitcase and he was very loving. He wasn’t clingy - he was just his normal bouncing, snoozing self. He was still cranky at pigeons and still hates the dish washer turning off.

Reflections

After a few days back, I was able to reflect on the whole experience. Would I have house-sitters again? Absolutely, yes. I asked G if he would and he said, “Probably not, because I want to go on holiday with my dog from now on.” He was quick to point out that this was no way a reflection on the house-sitting experience, but more because going from never owning a dog to being a dog owner that he was enjoying having Max in our lives and he wanted to enjoy Max’s company.

Although I realise that this means we won’t be having any holidays in Cyprus for quite a few years, I also realise that I love my husband so much for joining me so wholeheartedly on our rehoming journey and love him more for loving our little dog so much, that he doesn’t want to leave him at all.

After my holiday, I spoke at length about this article. It doesn’t matter if you use their service once, twice or twenty times - so long as it worked for you. Angela and her colleagues at TrustedHousesitters are passionate about animals being cared for in their own homes and the welfare of the animals comes first. Angela talks with such insight into house sitting and the rationale behind it. She said ‘animals don’t have choices and they don’t have voices’ and she explained why it’s important that every owner carefully considers what is best for their animal when making decisions about their holidays. She is also passionate about rehoming dogs and cats from rescue centres and says that potential owners of rescue dogs and cats shouldn’t be put off rehoming because they scared of leaving their animals. That’s why TrustedHousesitters was set up!

 In many ways businesses like TrustedHousesitters are enablers because they enable people to rescue animals and still go on holiday. For someone like me who works in animal rescue this is so important. I believe in rehoming like some people support football. Every time I see a dog or cat find a forever home it’s like my team has scored a goal. When an animal has been on foster for stress or medical needs and they find a forever home it’s like a hat trick and when an animal makes the transition to being completely settled it’s like a hat trick and your favourite player is man of the match. So here I stand on the football terrace of life cheering for rescue and rehoming centres and shouting out for TrustedHousesitters. I’ve got a butterfly on the end of my nose and my magnificent Max wants to go outside and play with the ball.

NB

If after reading my story you feel that you can offer a dog or cat a loving home please visit www.battersea.org.uk and complete the online registration.