Another lifetime ago, I was a pet sitter.

Ok, so it was only six years ago. It still feels like a lifetime.

Anyhow, the job title came from an ex-boyfriend who always had “GREAT IDEAS” but didn’t want to do like, any WORK to bring those ideas to fruition.

Apparently, that’s what a girlfriend was for.

He just wanted to be the “idea person” and then have me execute them, even if I was all, “that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

And I say IDEAS because in the two short years we were together, I made zen water fountains out of rocks and bamboo to sell to places like the Hallmark store, partially set up a “fax ad” business to send those really annoying “GO TO MEXICO FOR FREE!” ads to millions of fax machines, participated in a summer lawn mowing gig where I mowed EVERY SINGLE DAMN LAWN and finally, ran a pet sitting business.

The pet sitting actually took off – more so than I planned – and had me up at the crack ass of dawn, forcing pills down sick cats, feeding horses while trying not to get pummeled by their hooves, walking dogs with more issues than their owners – one figured out how to un-attach its collar from the leash, took off and stole a bone from another dog, who was sitting in his yard, minding his own business.

My retarded charge ran off, turned around fifty yards later, giant bone in its mouth, tail wagging furiously, eyeing me all, “GOTCHA, DUMBASS!”  Another wouldn’t eat OR drink unless told to do so repeatedly while in a quiet room with no distractions or objects on the floor other than his bowls…I had to feed squirrels and clean out bird cages…

And then there was Renee.

Renee the goose.

A family who owned two daschunds and a goose called and requested our my services while they went on vacation.

I shit you not.

They had a pet goose.

Renee stayed in a pen outside, next to the kids play set. When the wife showed me Renee, it was like a completely normal thing to her. Renee even came inside and sat on the couch and watched movies with the family.

Her wings were not clipped, so she could fly away if she ever had a desire to be part of the “flying V” – but she stayed. Apparently she prefered the posh life with cushy furniture where she didn’t have to hunt for food and fend off attackers.  

Part of my “duties” other than scooping out all the poo from her pen and feeding her, was to let Renee waddle around the yard.

Well, Renee liked to do more than just “waddle around” with me. She more like flew around while I was all, “RENEE! STAY HERE! FOLLOW ME! JUST DON’T FLY AWAY, DAMMIT!”

The owners told me if she started flying to start walking the other direction and she’d follow me like a duckling would its mom.

Well, Renee must have seen me as the mean, scary aunt, cause she didn’t follow. EVER.

I was also supposed to allow Renee to swim in the massive, expansive lake at the edge of their backyard.

I wasn’t exactly thrilled with that, but Renee didn’t really care what I thought and would waddle over and plop herself down into the water, completely out of my reach, mingling and gossiping with the other geese and paddle around while I sat at the edge, panicking all, “WHAT IF SHE JUST DECIDES TO…I DON”T KNOW…SWIM AWAY WITH HER NEW BOYFRIEND?”

Getting her out of the water was near impossible. I toyed with the idea of diving in and plucking Renee out but was afraid if I lost my visual on her by jumping in, I’d pick up the wrong goose and then get a call a few weeks later all, “Umm..where is Renee? This isn’t our goose. Our goose likes to watch TV. This one is chasing our dogs.”

I was finally able to coax her out with an entire slice of white bread – apparently her vice - and then I had to carry her back to the pen.

She fought me the whole way, honking all “HELL NO, WOMAN! PUT ME DOWN! I WASN’T FINISHED PREENING!”

Picking up an angry goose…not fun. To top it off, she had every single animal living in that yard against me. The squirrels would throw acorns and pecans at my head while she was squawking all, “MAYDAY MAYDAY! FIRE ALL NUTS! FIRE ALL NUTS!” and the other ducks and geese would dive bomb my face and run around my ankles to try and hinder my efforts.

I came to the conclusion after the fourth visit that Renee was a spoiled little brat who was used to doing anything she damn well pleased.

And that’s why she hated me.

I made her follow directions.