Keiko has had all her shots plus her teeth cleaned (ch-ching! says the vet's cash register) and Natasha has had all her shots and bloodwork done (ch-ching! ch-ching!) as well as being shaved for the summer due to excessive shedding and a marked disinclination to let me groom her sufficiently. She now looks like a naked mole rat with Natasha's face and fluffy tail stuck on. She's colder but happier and no longer throws up hairballs and/or food three times a day. This concludes the pet report.

Except for the part about finding someone to mind them while we're in Wisconsin. Lord, what a hassle. Our regular pet care people can't find someone to do the overnight stays for nine nights, and looking for new pet care is on the order of trying to get your kid into a private school. We've been through interviews, phone calls, waiting lists, and home visits. The worst, and therefore the funniest, was last Sunday.

We had a woman referred to us who takes dogs into her own home for temporary boarding. She charged $10 for the interview, but it seemed like a better alternative than the kennel where Jasper got kennel cough (which really can't be helped no matter how pleasant the boarding situation is as there are just so many dogs around). As we were driving to her place I was very impressed by the neighborhood; there were a lot of gorgeous homes with big yards and wonderful views of the Bay. Alas, as we got to her block we spotted one home that was clearly not of the same caliber or condition as the rest of the neighborhood. Also, there were at least four non-functional cars on blocks or in parts parked in her driveway and in front. Bad sign, I thought, but crossed my fingers and hoped for the best. It was, of course, her house.

Jabba the Hut opened the door wearing a floral tent for a shirt. She wasn't smoking a cigarette, but a miasma of tobacco scent wafted out. I almost walked away right then, but I thought we should give it a chance just in case I was wrong. The house was neat and clean and the living room was a nice size. We sat down and started the interview.

Jabba talked. She talked constantly. She babbled about some geriatric golden retriever who wasn't there, yammering about how much he loved his big pillow and always wanted to lie on it. She gestured to the empty pillow. We dutifully looked at it. It was a big pillow, yes indeed. She babbled about how much fun all the dogs had when they stayed with her as they were allowed to sleep or lie down or do whatever they liked in the house. Do you walk the dogs, I asked? No, she said dismissively, they get enough exercise playing with each other or being out in the backyard. Well yeah, I thought, walking is pretty obviously foreign to you what with that svelte 400 pound figure. May I see the backyard, I asked politely? Oh, there's no need, she said with a hint of belligerence. It's just a yard with grass, the animals go out every four hours to do their business and run around.

Jasper was unhappy. He didn't like it there and neither did I. In the back bedroom two dogs started fighting. "Never mind," said Jabba, "they don't like being confined. They want to come out and meet your nice doggie." John had a few questions for her. I looked across the room and discovered an enormous painting of Jesus looking back at me. A bad painting of Jesus, a really Anglo guy in non-period robes done in sickly sweet, fake Kincade style. This is not going to work, I thought, and asked my final question.

"How many dogs do you accept at one time?"

"Oh, that depends," she said cheerfully, and made a comment about how quiet Jasper was.

"What's your limit on the number of dogs you have boarded at any one time?" I repeated slowly and clearly for Jabba the Evasive.

"Really, it just depends. If we know the dogs we'll take them on even if we're busy," she replied.

"You're not answering my question," I said tersely, ready to leave but determined to make her answer at least one question honestly. "How many dogs is your top limit? Five? Six?" The house couldn't have been more than 1600 square feet.

"Well, ten, but only if we know them," Jabba finally said, slightly offended. She brightened up. "We love dogs, they have so much fun here, Willy loves sleeping on his big pillow..."

I stood up. While John paid her I casually walked over to Jesus and turned my head to look at the backyard. It was tiny. It was also on a hillside. My backyard is bigger. Ten dogs would be insanely overcrowded even if they were all Pomeranians. We left and Jasper relaxed a little.

"Not in one million years will our dog ever stay with her," I said to John. "Sorry, man. I owe you a tenner. That was scary." He agreed completely. We laughed about how weird it was but you know, it was actually kind of sad in a way. I don't think Jabba gets much human interaction.

I am determined that if I ever get out of the travel industry I am going to be a pet sitter because there is an enormous demand for sane, available people in the north peninsula communities. Heck, I probably wouldn't have to travel more than five miles in any direction and I could have a thriving business. If someone as clearly sub-par as Jabba can sucker in enough people to pay for her enormous grocery bills, then I know I can make my mortgage payment simply by offering first class service. But I will be sure to find a way to see lots and lots of humans as well. I wouldn't want to end up babbling about Jasper's blanket to anyone trapped in my living room. Of course, if they paid ten bucks for the privilege it might not matter.

Meanwhile, Jasper has a reservation at Pet Camp. I guess the next time we plan a trip we'll consult the pet care people first and work around their schedule. Jeez.

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