Undeniably You

Shit! It’s everywhere and I’ve only been here for three hours. Thank God it’s contained to the hardwood floors. I scramble to find a trash bag in the pantry as my phone chimes. Sliding it out from the back pocket of my short denim shorts, I swipe my finger across the screen.
“Hello?”
“Sydney?” An unfamiliar woman’s voice sounds.
“Yes,” I confirm with the phone pinched between my ear and shoulder as I peel open the trash bag.
“It’s Kimberly from Dr. Abbott’s office returning your phone call.”
As I walk past the glass French doors to the patio, I’m met with two blue-grey eyes on the other side following my every move. Squinting and seething with contempt, I continue to the first steaming pile of shit.
“Oh, yes, thank you for calling me back. I’m house and dog sitting for my uncle and aunt, Trevor and Elizabeth Worthington. Their dog … uh—”
“Swarley.”
“Yes, Swarley has been shi—I mean pooping everywhere since they left early this morning.”
“He might be nervous or apprehensive about them leaving. Dogs sense more than we realize. They’re much smarter than we give them credit for being.”
Yeah, this dog is real freaking smart!
“Anyway, Dr. Abbott has an opening at one o’clock if you’d like to bring Swarley in just to make sure it’s nothing serious.”
The ripe sewer stench wafting near my nose forces me to hold my breath as I rush to glove my hand in paper towels and wipe up the mess.
“One, thanks. See you then.” The mordacious smell steals my voice.
* * *
House sitting is a great interim job, especially for someone with a bachelor’s degree in art history. Pet sitting … not so glamorous, but it comes with the territory. My dream of becoming a museum curator is going to be a long journey. It’s virtually impossible to get an offer without a master’s degree, and really, a PhD is preferred—especially among the larger, more prestigious museums. Feeling broke and drowning in debt since graduation, I’ve decided to work a few years before completing my schooling. However, if I continue to get into this sort of “shit,” I may decide to sell my body instead of my time.
The first few jobs I took were in the Midwest, within driving distance from where I grew up in Rock Island, Illinois. After I banked some cash, I got my passport and applied for house sitting positions abroad. Over the past year I’ve traveled to Rio De Janeiro, Qatar, Ireland, Australia, and the UK. I visit every museum I can and dream of someday being the lucky person in charge of overseeing everything. It’s a long shot at best, but a girl can hope.
When Avery took a job in L.A. as a massage therapist, I decided to look for something on the West Coast so we could see each other during the summer. As fate would have it, our dad’s sister and her husband, who live in Palo Alto, decided to travel Europe in June. They were thrilled to hear that I was available to house-sit for them and watch their new dog. It’s a five and a half hour drive from L.A., but at least Avery and I are in the same time zone.
“Get in, Swarley!” I hold open the back door to Elizabeth and Trevor’s white Escalade.
Their two-year-old Weimaraner is infuriating, and we’ve known each other for less than twenty-four hours. It’s going to be a long month.
I look at the time on my phone: 12:45 p.m.
“Ugh! You stubborn mutt, get in.” I reach down and bear-hug his body, praying nothing squirts out of his backside as I thrust him into the backseat. After another five minutes of wrestling around trying to thread the seat belt through his harness loop, we’re off to the vet.
I notice two other cars in the parking lot, so hopefully we won’t have to wait long. The instant I unfasten Swarley, he bolts out of the backseat attempting to rip my arm off as the leash tourniquets around my wrist.
“Swarley! Dammit, stop!” He drags me through the grass along the side of the building. I think he’s chasing a squirrel, or a bird. Hell, he could be chasing his tail for all I know. I’m too busy trying to avoid all the steamy land mines. What happened to dog shit pick up etiquette?
Swarley stops to lift his leg to a tree, giving me a reprieve. Digging the embedded leash out of my skin, I choke up on it about an inch from strangling his neck.
“Let’s go!” I yank his leash.
Approaching the door, my face wrinkles. I’m not sure if I’m smelling something new or if the pungent odor from earlier this morning is still lingering in my nose. Grabbing the door handle to steady myself, I lift my right foot to inspect the bottom of my shoe. Clean. I lift the left.
“Shit!”