Adventure of a Pagan Petsitter

While I haven’t been active in the local Pagan community, I am still The Pet Sitter for two reasons: first, I have experience with many different species and situations. (I am familiar with many varieties of animal first-aid. In the past I have preformed mouth-to-snout - and mouth-to-mouse.) Second, as a fellow Pagan, I won’t touch ritual objects or panic at the sight of a pentacle and other symbols.

My friend Waxwing asked me to watch her two elderly dogs last week. Since Wing’s house is on the opposite side of the Denver Metro area from the Mouse_Pad, I decided to stay at her home instead of commuting between the two places.

During my stay, I used the guest bathroom. The dogs were accustomed to having this room to themselves and liked to lie on the tile floor to keep cool. Being an (plutonic) animal-lover, I’m used to maneuvering around pets as I go about my usual routine.

Saturday, I was caught off-guard.

I had showered and was getting out of the tub. Jess, a Boxer, had settled on top of the bath mat while I was scrubbing up. Not looking where my foot was going, I stepped on poor ol’ Jess. She yelped and ran like hell down the hall. Luckily, I was able to catch myself before falling flat on my face. To Jess, the world had come to an end. Her person was gone and a somewhat-familiar individual had injured her! Hazel, a very amiable mongrel and Jess’ rival for attention, started to howl along with the Boxer :smack:

I quickly dried off and dressed. “Outside? You girls wanna go outside?” I said in a forced-cheerful tone.

The dogs ran out, but continued howling. I managed to get Jess to come to me, and other than a wet spot, she was unharmed. (She didn’t bear my full weight. As soon as I felt pelt, I adjusted my step.)

Waxwing, like many people, has a crazy neighbor. The dogs got his attention.

“Will you shut those mutts up!” he shouted.

“Sorry. They’ll settle down in a minute.” I replied.

The man looked over the fence at me. “You pregnant?”

“Yes.”

“The lady that lives here is a lesbo. How did you get pregnant?”

The dogs were settling down. I bit my tongue and ignored the neighbor.

“Hey! How did you get knocked-up?” the neighbor demanded.

“Your parents should have explained that to you. If you missed out, they’re some useful books on the topic, check the local library.”

Thankfully, it was my last day at Wing’s. Hopefully, the neighbor will take my advice and expand his intellectual horizons. :smiley:

You should have said “ah, she’s got a dildo, y’see!” and winked.

Holy cow, aren’t people stupid, eh?

Obviously he wasn’t aware that lesbians are allowed to have straight female friends.

You actually said that? I can never think of those types of quips until it’s too late. I commend you, O Noble Pagan Petsitter!

“It was one of those immaculate things. Frankly, I don’t know that I’m up to the pressure.”

I have my moments. They are very, very rare. My last quip was months ago.

This guy may think that “immaculate” makes me one of those freaky transexuals. :stuck_out_tongue:

You should have winked at him and told him “Turkey Baster!”

Adopt a crazy, wide eyed happy look, as you slowly walk directly toward him and say, in a very low, almost reverential tone.

“It was the Spring Equinox. We got together and summoned the Dark Lord, Satan Himself. He came to us! Large…red…male…oh so very male! His penis dragged upon the Earth. Our breasts started to quiver, our loins a fire!..”

:eek:

See how long it takes before you break out laughing or before he runs away.

I would patronize a business called “The Pagan Petsitter” in a heartbeat.

I’m not sure which appalls me more - the neighbor’s ignorance, or his rudeness. Either way, good on you for the quick quip. I would have been too dumbfounded to reply.

“Duh. We’re witches. We used magic.”

I know Pagans aren’t witches. But I’m guessing this guy wouldn’t know the difference.

Better yet:
“Uhh … remember a couple of months ago when she borrowed a turkey baster from your wife…”.

I believe the correct medical term is “having a bun in the coven”.

Mousie, do you think you could come over and babysit my boss? He’s kind of mousy…

I’m giggling imaging CPR with a mouse. Holding the mouse’s head with thumb and forefinger, diving in and pushing breath into his tiny little lungs, then pounding his chest, screaming “Live! Live, dammit! Why won’t you liiiiiiiiiiive?!?!”

:smiley: :smiley: :smiley: Oh I love it! Can I have some of the wit you’re not using? You seem to a have a surplus. :wink:

No screaming - you may get spit in a sterile zone. You say that with gritted teeth. The mouse lays in your palm as you gently press on its chest and blow on its face. (The last project I worked on made this difficult because you had to press on two hearts. The native on in the thorax and a transplanted one in the abdomen.)

Sure! I’ll need his vet’s number, your contact information, and the dates you’ll be gone. My usual rate is $30 a day, but I’ll have to adjust it for travel expenses. :slight_smile:

Woah, woah, woah… Dual-Hearted Super-mice? Playing god a bit much, aren’t we?

Or “Goddess”, maybe? :wink:

Read again, the second heart is transplanted. IIRC, Mousie’s work was in immunology - a lot of that has to do with transplant rejections.