If you think that dog sitting means that you sit around while the dogs go about their daily business, you are dead wrong.
After a few days of plying Abelard & Heloise (aka Abe ‘n Weezy) with cookies & love, here’s what I now know it means:
You also pat them.
You rub their tummies.
You brush their hair.
You regularly refresh their water.
You talk to them.
You assure them that only 4 sleeps remain (then, 3, 2 and 1) before pop ‘n pop return home.
You rub ointment on their skin and assure them it’ll all be better soon.
You rub the skin under their chins until it gets chafed.
You hold a staring competition with the younger one, finally giving up, letting her win gold.
You let them sidle up near you while you practice yoga.
You let them slide under your downward dog* – because now that you’re inverted, what choice do you really have?
And you finish up your practice halfway off the mat.
You break up cookies and feed them, measuring carefully so as to give them perfectly equal shares. They’ll know if you’ve distributed the goods unequally.
You dry them down when they’re drenched from the torrential downpour.
You wrap the grey-bearded one tightly in his thunder-shirt, to ward off anxiety.
You let them sleep on the bed. With you.
You know they will do anything but sit when they sniff a dog or cat – even if that animal is on the other side of the rice fields, hundreds of meters away.
You know they must be true Bali dogs – because they ignore the gecko that fell to the floor and the huge beetle flailing about inches from their feet.
You let them slobber all over you, which is a good sign – yes, JS! – that you are very well licked.
* For the record, when doggies do their stretch, it’s not a downward dog; it’s child pose (with paws outstretched).