Your dog and I take the same SSRIs

Disclaimer: I don’t have a dog. But I know of many.

I live in a city where furry friends run rampant. Shaggy, hairless, bony, stocky, hyper, subdued, old, young; the list goes on and on. Much like humans. I never grew up with animals in our home. My Asian parents immigrated to the States in the late 90s and their stance on anything that moved but couldn’t report on its academic achievements was met the classic ai-ya tsk and eye-roll. Obsolete. Useless.

Now, a couple decades later, I petsit part-time for money while finishing my Master’s degree. When I tell you I could write anthologies of my experiences spent in strangers’ homes, I could write. The worst part is when you book a client who is more stressed about their pet than the pet has ever been about themselves. While I try my best to be punctual, detail-oriented, and communicative, I’m also imperfect, and sometimes mistakes happen. I will never forget the time that I unknowingly locked myself out of someone’s apartment because their front door had an automatic deadbolt. $200 out of pocket for a 5 minute locksmith service. At least the locksmith was cute. I wonder why he isn’t modeling instead.

Here’s my hot take: there is nothing worse than seeing dog owners mindlessly parade their furry friends around, and not to mention those who regularly walk theirs off-leash, oblivious to the world and all the happenings in it. The whole “let me stick my hand in your dog’s face in public without asking you first” charade is tiring. Or forcing our cats to…