• "Q" is for Questions from a Pet Owner

If you own pets, you've probably read articles such as Finding the Perfect Pet Sitter. But pet owners have other concerns—and who better than a pet sitter to answer?

Q) Do I need to buy food or drinks for the pet sitter?
A) I bring my own. I don't expect anyone to leave food, but it's nice when they do. Some clients mention specific foods, which means it's OK for me to eat those foods. (e.g., "In the refrigerator are tomatoes from my garden and leftover Chinese food.") Some tell me to help myself to anything.

Q) I'm worried about a pet sitter having access to some of my personal things.
A) As we toured his home, one client waved a hand at the room that served as his office. "You probably won't need anything in there," he said. Translation: He did not want me to go in the office. You can also lock rooms or move valuable or personal items to a safe. In case of emergency, make sure a neighbor has a key to a locked room.

Q) The pet sitter wants to bring his computer and log on using my WiFi password. Will he be able to access my computer files?
A) I couldn't—I don't have the technical know-how! But yes, I think someone can access your files. Have your service provider set up a guest account with a different password than yours.

Q) I'd like to hire a live-in pet sitter, but the thought of someone sleeping in my bed sort of creeps me out, and I don't have a guest room.
A) I've slept on couches, fold-out couches, and even my own inflatable mattress. If none of those options would work, you can ask sitters to bring their own sheets.

Q) I liked the pet sitter I interviewed, but she's young. I'm worried she may invite friends over for a party.
A) Say directly, "I would rather that you, and only you, are in the house while I'm away. Will that pose a problem?" Ask one of your neighbors to keep an eye on the house or even drop in unexpectedly.

Q) The last time I had a house guest they ordered $50 worth of Pay-Per-View TV. How can I politely ask the pet sitter not to do that?
A) "You understand that not all movies or channels on my TV are free. Some movies can cost of much as they do in the theater. I have more than 100 free channels; I imagine that should be enough."

Q) Do I need to tip the pet sitter?
A) I've seen this question a few times, with answers both pro and con. Personally, I don’t think it’s necessary. What I find far more valuable is if a pet owner writes a testimonial, agrees to act as a reference, or passes my business card along to friends.

Do you have a question? I hope you'll leave a comment!

• "P" is for Photos

My best shot—Arlo (left) and Darcy

Photos of pets, that is. One way I try to distinguish myself as a pet sitter is by shooting photos and videos of clients' animals.

Sometimes the task is big. I made a daily blog of two shelties for clients who went on a month-long cruise. Although they said the blog was one of the highlights of their cruise, I think they were being very polite.

Sometimes it's a piece of cake. I usually post photos and updates on Facebook or Twitter, which serves two purposes: Clients see that their pets are healthy and happy and, hopefully, the exposure draws new pet sitting business.

Many huzzahs later, I started to think my pictures were hot stuff, so hot that I agreed to photograph two Cavachons to illustrate a book. Boy, was I in over my head.

Oops . . .

I'd read the book and listed shots that would be helpful, but my plan was no match for reality. Bubbly, exuberant, sparkling—however you choose to describe the two dogs, they wiggled and moved nonstop. When they ran on a zip line, all my shots were blurry, even with flash. With no fenced-in area in the yard, the owners quickly cordoned off a space with baby gates. I was nervous and the dog owners, one of whom wrote the book, were nervous and exhausted.

It wasn't the fault of my camera, the Canon PowerShot A560. Yep, I'm one of those people too impatient to read the owner's manual! After the photo shoot I found several features that would have helped. After the shoot.

I have a lot to learn. Oh, wait—could you hold that pose?

• "O" is for Orange

Orange is the color of Prevention of Cruelty to Animals Month—April—sponsored by the ASPCA. If you see people on the street in orange T-shirts, as I did last year, they're probably spreading the word about this initiative. My 2011 post on the subject mentions ways you can take action.

You don't have to look far for examples of animal cruelty. A woman contacted me on Twitter several months ago. Every day she drove by a dog sitting in its yard, but never saw people in the yard. She assumed the dog had food and water, but still, it didn't feel right. Should she do something?

Report it to the local animal welfare agency, I Tweeted. I'm not sure there's anything wrong, she replied; her gut told her the dog was being neglected. Call animal welfare, I wrote. They'll check into it—that's their job.

In a much more serious incident, my stomach sickened when I read a news story about a drunk man who cooked his roommate's hamster in a skillet. I felt overwhelmed with grief, especially since I've owned these gentle rodents for nearly a decade.

It's easy to feel defeated at the scope of animal neglect and cruelty. In recognition of this, Be the Change for Animals highlights one issue a week. Its goal is to "ignite and accelerate the change we can make as individuals at a pace that doesn’t overwhelm."

I hope the woman who Tweeted me took action. I hope she changed that dog's life. That's how it can happen: one small action at a time.

Yours.

• "N" is for Neatness

Before

After

If my mother were alive she would tell you I'm messy. She would be right. When I come home I shuck off my coat, kick off my shoes. Where they land, they land. Mornings often find me staring at the previous night's dishes, soaking in the sink. I lose my TV remote under magazines or bills.

But when I pet sit, I try to keep up the house to the homeowner's standards, and most homeowners are neat. I do this for two reasons.

Neighbors occasionally drop by and homeowners can come home early. I think of it a surprise inspection, and I want to pass.

The other reason I clean up while I'm pet sitting is that it clears my mind. When the house is messy I feel scattered. I straighten up room by room, and as I do so, I check off a mental list. Make the bed, hang up my clothes, put my shoes in the closet so the puppy won't chew them.

Alongside my mental cleaning lists, another list always arises: what I can do for the animals. Try a different chew toy so Teddy won't get bored. Instead of our usual noon walk, take Coco downtown to the courthouse for a walk and a picnic. Put fresh water and an ice cube in the water bowls. Sit on the floor and stroke Lily for awhile; she's feeling left out because I've had to pay so much attention to Shelly.

If I hadn't experienced this phenomenon only yesterday, I might think this is a lame post. I have no clue why my mind works this way. What I do know is that the animals benefit. That's what counts. What are your challenges, as a pet sitter? Do you struggle with being neat? I'd love it if you would comment.

Now, where is that remote?

• "M" is for Mrs. Emma

I am in love with Mrs. Emma, who is a bit of a You Tube star. Her family devised a winning formula to showcase their curvaceous, blonde beauty. Each video begins with Mrs. Emma's squeaky, yet husky, voice:

"Hal-loh."

Mrs. Emma is European, so there's a smidgen of an accent. Then her catchy theme song follows. "Da - da da dan - da da dan - da da da da dan da . . ." The videos are amateur, but this lady is more in tune than most of the Real Housewives.

If you don't believe me, check her out for yourself—she's so cute. Mrs. Emma can even swim! After a workout she usually takes a nap. What—you don't think Mrs. Emma is really singing? See for yourself. She's no Milli Vanilli.

And now, as this post closes, a smooth jazz riff carries us into the sunset. Auf wiedersehen, Mrs. Emma.

• "L" is for Love Isn't Enough

Just so you know? If you want to be a pet sitter, love isn't enough.

"I'm sure you're a great pet sitter, Emmy. You love animals so much." I smile when people say this, but don't usually tell them what I'm thinking: Pet sitting takes a whole lot more than love.

Please, some of you are thinking. It's not rocket science. No, thank goodness, it's not. But if you're thinking of pet sitting, you should know a few things.

• Do you know what to do if an animal is injured or gets sick? You are that animal's 911. Do you know animal first aid? Own a first aid book and kit? Do you know the route to the homeowner's vet? Do you know the emergency vet (because pets never get sick during business hours)? Did the homeowner sign a veterinary release form? Did you talk to the homeowner about how to handle a vet bill?

• If an animal goes missing under your care, you should be prepared. If you see the missing animal, do you know how to get it to come to you? Is the pet microchipped? Wearing its tags? Do you know how to make effective signs and flyers? Do you know who to notify?

• If there's a natural or other type of disaster, do you have an evacuation plan? Have you bookmarked a web site that explains the steps you should follow?

• Do you have a list of foods, household items, and local plants and flowers that are toxic to pets? Do you take any medications that animals can get hold of? Are they toxic to pets?

• A good percentage of the job of pet sitting is the relationship with the pet's owner. After all, the pets aren't the ones who pay you! Are you professional? Do you have good judgment? A pet owner is going to give you the key to their house—access to all their possessions—and entrust you with the care of a beloved (four-legged) member of their family. Are you trustworthy?

And, of course, love.

Will you love the animals that throw up or have diarrhea on the rug? Will you love the puppy that barks at 4:00 a.m. because he wants to chase the squirrel in the yard? Will you love the Rhodesian Ridgeback when she hogs the entire bed and growls—really growls—when you try to get in? Will you love the cat that escapes out the back door at bed time, when you're exhausted? When you finally catch her, will you love her when she thanks you with her claws?

At the time, all of these situations sucked. Looking back, yeah, I can say honestly that I loved those animals afterwards. I guess that's why I'm a pet sitter.

• "K" is for Kindness

My father

When my father lived in a home for the elderly, one of the men, a former colonel, relentlessly taunted another man. Long-ago accomplishments omnipresent in his mind, the colonel berated the poor fellow for being uneducated, blue collar, and shorter in stature.

Sick of the bullying, I spoke firmly to the colonel one day. "Anyone can apply themselves in school or rise in the workplace, but the true test of a man is his ability to be kind." (Yeah, I climb on a soapbox when I'm angry.)

You guessed it: Instead of recognizing my wisdom, the colonel completely ignored me.

Despite my self-righteous anger, I think I was right. It takes wisdom, compassion, and—at times—restraint, to be consistently kind. One of my favorite fictional characters is Atticus Finch, the father in To Kill a Mockingbird. From his children to the mentally challenged neighbor to the Black community, Finch treated everyone with unfailing kindness and respect.

Me and Honey

As a pet sitter, kindness and patience are two of the most important attributes I can bring. The first thing I do during any pet sit is sit quietly with the animals. Some are nervous, but if they allow it, I stroke them. In a soft voice I explain that I'll be staying with them for a few days. Everything will go on as usual. I won't let anything bad happen to them. Their "mom and dad" will come back soon.

Note that I say that kindness and patience are the two of the most important attributes I can bring. Kindness is my natural inclination. But after several days in someone else's home, I can have moments of frustration. I can't find a can opener. I run out of clean underwear. A dog scratches me with long nails. The cat wants in, the cat wants out. In. Out.

It's more important than ever—then—to be kind. Animals have a reason for everything they do. Everything. I'm not a trainer, so I can be clueless about why an animal behaves as it does, and it's not my responsibility to change its behavior. My responsibility is to be kind.

Isn't it funny that it all comes down to the Golden Rule? Treat others as you would like to be treated. With kindness.

• "J" is for Jacobson's Organ

Let me say straight off that I did not know—before I checked the dictionary—the definition of a Jacobson's organ. But I identified with the TV commercial that mentions it.

Three young women are talking about cats. The first two ooh and coo over how they love cute, cuddly kittens. The third pipes up. "And cats have the Jacobson's organ," she begins, then proceeds to overwhelm her ditsy companions with obscure facts.

I like that woman. She loves animals, I love animals—everything about animals. I want to hang out with her, exchange geeky animal trivia. Rats are revered by Hindus. What are the cats with six toes called? Polydactyl. Hamsters came from Syria. When a farrier trims a horse's hooves, give leftovers to the dogs—it's good for them.

The Jacobson's organ reference isn't the best, as I'm much more interested in dogs and horses than I am in cats. But the sentiment conveys. Animals geeks, who's with me?

• "I" is for Information

Information? Yawn. But as a live-in pet sitter, information is the backbone of my work.

I'd like to link here to an online client form, but I don't have one. My web site—self-created, to save money—is on Blogger, for heaven's sake. So I do things the old fashioned way, with the template of a Word document that I fill in.

I get information at my initial client meeting. About halfway through, the client usually gives me a puzzled look. Why does a pet sitter need to know the location of the main water cutoff? That's because I want to be sure I can take care of anything when I stay at the house, despite the fact that the thought of a major water leak makes me a nervous wreck.

About the House: Questions I Ask

• May I have names and phone numbers of neighbors? Is there anyone I can call if something breaks?

• Is there a spare key? Do any neighbors have a key?

• Where is the fuse box? Main water cutoff? Spare light bulbs, flashlight, batteries, toilet paper, etc.?

• How do I operate the heat? Air conditioning? Alarm system? Oven? Dishwasher? Washer/dryer? Phone? TV? (Very important!!)

• What day is trash day? What do you recycle?

• Do plants need water? How about the yard?

• Do you have Wifi? What's the name of your network? Your password?

• Should I answer your phone or let it go to voice mail?

• Do you want updates on your pets when you're away? How often? Via phone, email, Facebook, Twitter?

At that meeting I make sure I know how to work the key and TV, and can get online with my laptop.

About the Pets: Questions I Ask

• What is their schedule? (Potty breaks, walks, meals, treats, cleaning litter box)

• What do they eat? How much? Do they get treats?

• Do they take medications? Have medical issues? Do you give them dental care?

• Where do you keep their leashes? Grooming brush and comb? Extra poop bags? Towels for when it rains?

• How do the pets get along with each other? How do they react to other dogs? To people? Is there anything they're afraid of? (Thunder, vacuum, being touched on the neck)

• May they get on the furniture? Where do they sleep at night?

• What commands do they know? What should I say or do if they misbehave?

• Are they microchipped? Where is that information? Do they wear their tags all the time?

• Who is their vet? Emergency vet?

I ask homeowners to fill out a veterinary release form. I also use MapQuest to map the route from the homeowner's to their vet and emergency vet, and print it out. In the event that a pet goes missing under my care, I bookmark the Web sites of the nearest animal shelters.

I put all of this information in my Pink Notebook, which will probably be its own A to Z Challenge post.

• "H" is for Horse

When I was a little girl I wanted a horse. People would chuckle and nod when I said I wanted a horse, but it demeaned my dream when they said, “Every little girl wants a horse.” It made me angry. I wasn’t “every little girl”: I was me, the most important little girl in the world, and I wanted a horse.

I knew nothing about the practicalities of owning a horse. I didn’t care. I wanted a horse.

To scratch the itch, my father took me horseback riding once when I was nine or ten. The owner leaned against the corral fence and my father stood next to him with his hands in his pockets. My father was not a man who leaned. They talked easily. My father grew up on a farm and loved the land.

I had ridden at camp in groups with a leader, but I’d never ridden alone. Head down, the horse wearily followed the path through the woods. I bumped along, holding the saddle horn when I was out of sight of the adults. I was supposed to be enjoying the ride but I was scared. But I couldn’t tell anyone I was afraid to get on a horse. I would have lost face.

As we exited the woods the horse caught sight of the barn, in the distance. Its pace increased. I was used to the horse by then and I smiled, ready to practice posting if he trotted. Throughout the woods I had kicked the horse to no avail. I kicked the horse now, on the open trail, and it broke into a gallop toward the barn

My heart leapt into my throat. I clutched the saddle horn and tried to hang onto my reins. The stirrups bounced against the horse’s side and my small sneakered feet flew free. I held on, as they say, for dear life, but it was not to be.

Before we reached the barn I landed with an Oof on the hard, dirt-packed ground. I could see my father and the horse’s owner laughing heartily. My feelings were hurt. How dare my father laugh at me? He never did that. And my backside hurt. I stood up. My legs quivered, as they always did when I dismounted. In addition, I was shaking “from stem to stern,” as my father would say.

“I’ve got him,” said the owner. “He loves to run to the barn. I thought your daddy said you rode before.”

I hung my head and didn’t answer.

“Well, here he is. I’ll hold him while you get on up.”

I shook my head.

“You know what they say: fall off a horse, get back on.”

“Don’t you want to get on again? The hour’s not up,” said my father. I was close enough to him now that I could see his eyes were kind, concerned. He wanted me to have a good time.

I would not ride that horse again.

I didn’t ride for another ten years, at least. Then, occasionally, I would go to on a trail ride, which many dismissively call “nose-to-tail” riding. I was driving across country with a man I didn’t know very well. In a campground outside Amarillo, Texas, we met another couple that wanted to go horseback riding. The next day the four of us rented horses in a place where we had a thousand acres in which to ride. A thousand acres! I grew up in Virginia, where no one had that kind of land. I was giddy with the possibilities.

The man I was with the woman in the other couple wanted to keep a walking pace. Her boyfriend wanted to canter. I want to canter, too! I claimed, citing the wide-open landscape spreading out impossibly around us. He kicked his horse and I kicked my horse and we began to canter through land that, to me, epitomized the Wild West. A few second in, however, I began to bounce crazily on the beast’s back. All thoughts of enjoying myself ended. I grabbed the saddle horn and held on for life. A horse is a pack animal and it will follow its pack; I knew that. I knew that the horses of my friend and the other woman, who had the courage to admit they didn’t want to go fast, would run. By that stage of our cross-country trip I disliked the man I was with. When we stopped I didn’t admit I was afraid and I didn’t admit I was happy to see my friend suffer. He and the woman were angry, rightly so. I didn’t care, and I didn’t admit I was afraid.

When I was 50 I decided I was ready to retire. Since I was several years away from being able to do so I had time to hone my plan. I knew I wanted to live in the Southwest. I loved the sand and sage colors of the land, the sunset skies shot with orange and cerise. As the dream gradually took shape, I gradually realized that I wanted a horse.

I want a horse.

I am 58, I am overweight, I don’t exercise, and I have a host of minor physical problems that flare up when I exert myself. I can’t run, I can barely bend over, I can’t climb stairs without pain, and I can’t lift a bale of hay. People more practical than I have suggested ways I can get my “horse fix” without the effort and expense—which I have learned are considerable. Volunteer at a therapeutic riding center. Lease a horse. Work part-time at a stable. And so on.

I listen to them but I haven’t lost the dream. I want a horse. I’ve taken grownup steps to get there. I took an intensive riding workshop and admitted I was afraid. My goal was not to fall off. I didn’t. A woman said I could visit her Arabian farm and I learned to take care of her horses. I ride occasionally with—as they call it in yoga—beginner’s mind. I am learning, gradually, to “speak horse,” to read their ears and eyes, to follow the shift of their barrel and the direction of footfall.

I want a horse.