I was thrilled to receive a quick response to my email request for employment applications. Just quitting my second job as a delivery driver for a pizzeria had been both good and bad. Good, because the new owner was very close to putting someone in the hospital with all his health code violations and I wanted no part in it. Bad, because I needed the income even if it was thinning out over time what with bad tippers and rising gas prices.
The owner of the pet-sitting business I’d emailed sent me a response within days. We met at a great 1950’s pin-up girl themed coffee shop the day after. The interview went well and I was hired. I happily attended a barrage of unpaid consults, meeting new clients and current ones. The clients were great and the business owner (let’s call her Veronica) is amazing.
After about a week and a $50 tank of gas however, things were looking a little bleaker. Since all the back and forth consulting was a free service, my bank account was starting to suffer. It didn't help that I had just received another late notice from one of my student loans. I also had been given a tentative April schedule of pet sits, and I wasn’t even going to crack $100 for the month. In combination with my other job as a dog trainer, that meant I was barely teasing a $500 monthly income.
I spent a very stressful afternoon debating with a friend (she’ll be dubbed Charlotte) about the merits of the pet sitting job. I told her about Veronica’s expecting twins, and the great chance at learning the job since I eventually want to run my own pet sitting business, and how horrible I would feel leaving Veronica to fend for herself when she’d clearly expressed her need and appreciation for my help. Charlotte stressed that I needed to think about me first, intonating that promising to work on that meant I actually had to practice it. I felt torn: I needed a more substantial income from a second job, but Veronica needed me and I loved working for her. It didn’t help that her Rottweiler had become my new best friend and was competing for boyfriend status with an elderly Golden Retriever.
I shadowed Veronica later that day, at said Golden Retriever’s house. After going for a walk and working out a pay schedule, we sat on the floor with my senior almost-boyfriend. While he ran around humping the furniture, Veronica pulled out a revised April schedule and I jotted down names, times and addresses into my pocket planner. Magically, several more times had been added, and there were a few more clients waiting to schedule their times with Veronica and me. I was so relieved I didn’t even mind smelling the chair cushion the dog had recently dismounted to check for pee.
I’m hoping this forward momentum keeps up, though Veronica has already told me that this is the busiest month she’s had yet. I want to discuss some advertising options with her to see if we can bring in more clients, as well as driving around leaving business cards at vet offices and pet stores. I’m trying to stay positive because this job, and the dog training, are two halves of what I want to do with my life. Eventually I expect to run my own pet sitting and pet taxi business in California, and in the long run open a small animal rescue. I already dream about chic little farmhouses and earthy pastures, a heated stall in the stables for barn cats and climate-controlled garage kennel for dogs waiting for forever homes, a cat room resplendent with ceiling-level cat walks and towering kitty condos.
