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went up that narrow staircase when I needed to use the bathroom. I tried to avoid that, though, because the toilet ran, and once I almost broke off the door handle from the inside. Getting stuck in a client’s bathroom would surely be bad for business.
    Pearl’s crate was in the open living room/dining room to the right of the front door, but it was situated behind the dining room table, so I couldn’t see her until I was almost upon her. As was her usual, she sat facing the crate door, the cone half obscuring her adorable face. Her expressive eyes were barely visible behind her untrimmed doggy bangs. She wagged her tail, a thump thumpthump on the base of her crate that was one of the most comforting sounds in the world to me.
    But I had to be ready. The minute I sprang the latch on her crate, she’d be out and past me faster than I could ever get used to—I’d been clipped by that cone more times than I cared to recall. She got so excited about her release that she often peed a little on the floor before she made it out the back door to the yard.
    I was slowly learning some tricks, though. It appeared that I was trainable, too. But, like Pearl, maybe not exceptionally so.
    â€œBe right back,” I said to her.
    She whined a little as I dashed down the stairs from the kitchen, through the playroom, and to the back door, which I unlocked and opened in preparation for her mad dash.
    It was a good move, too, because the minute Pearl made it beyond the threshold, she squatted. She wasn’t even on the grass when she let loose a stream on the paving stone right outside the back door. Not ideal, but far better than the playroom floor.
    When she finished, she shook her butt in what I read as delighted relief and then trotted over to me, trying to lick my hand and instead mauling my thigh with the hard edge of her cone. I removed it for our visit so that we could have some productive ball time, and I spent a good while scratching her neck where the collar had been.
    For the next thirty minutes, we threw the tennis ball and I taught her about sitting and waiting for the ball toss. It took her longer than most dogs to get the hang of it, but by the end, she was returning to me with the ball in her mouth, if not yet dropping it at my feet. After replacing the e-collar, and before returning her to the crate, I was sure to give her a prolonged full body scratch—an apology of sorts for subjecting her once more to the cone of shame and then locking her up. That was a mean one-two combination.She moaned a little, a low guttural sound that Biscuit used to make during belly rubs. Doggie ecstasy. She tried to lick my hands and legs in gratitude but just further bruised me with hard plastic. Pants were probably a good idea for my visits with her, in spite of the warm Indian summer sun that made me sweat and her pant.
    My first overnight gig was in less than a week. The assignment was a five-night sojourn with two dogs and seven exotic birds. In the meantime, I’d secured my business license and liability insurance and had filed my DBA with the local paper. I’d also joined an association of pet sitters and dog walkers. They were in need of a secretary to take down the minutes at the monthly meetings, so I’d offered my services there as well. I had business cards, a new email address, and an established scale of rates for my various services. But I had little idea of how to prepare myself for such a complicated client as this, with so many different breeds of birds, each with specific dietary and environmental needs. I had limited experience with birds of any kind as it was, much less with the large talking variety. Ready or not, though, I was poised to become a professional purveyor of the pet slumber party.

 
    Journal entry: Tuesday, 8:00 AM
    Looks like all that note-taking during episodes of Head of the Class and all those sick days spent playing secretary are finally going to pay off! I can