Thank God for House Sitters

Dewey has been taken care of.  It's really not as ominous as it sounds.  See, when we go away, Dewey has to go to another puppy raiser, so that he can continue his education while we are away.  Jam and Willow, however, just need someone to love them.

Jam may need a bit more love than most.

Actually, Jam is nuts, but we love him.  We got him a prescription for doggie xanax to deal with his separation anxiety, but it hasn't seemed to touch him.  His little anxiety engine runs so fast that the xanax calming ions can't keep up and the last time we tried it, Jam was waiting for us at the window.  Panting and looking anxious.

Sigh.

So getting someone we trust to watch over our nutball is key and we have found the perfect person.  He's another puppy raiser and he'll be able to stay at the house and watch over both the dogs.

Of course, that leaves me with a bit of anxiety about the house.  (I'm thinking anxiety runs rampant in this house!) Is it clean enough? Do we have enough food? Are the instructions on how to use the three (count them, 3!!) remotes clear enough? Then I open the fridge door.

OMG.  I would never house sit for myself.  Look at my fridge.  It's horrible.  Who am I? Do I eat out of this fridge?

I shut the door.

I open it.  Gross.

Do I need to clean the fridge?  It was only two weeks ago that I went through every single condiment we had and threw out TONS of condiments (one was from (I swear I am telling the truth) 2009)! Who checks the dates on condiments?  They last forever! Like twinkies!  Condiments are just a conglomeration of chemicals and a red or yellow liquid. Right?

I open the fridge door.  I shut it.

I remember, years ago, we went to a friend of a friend's house and I opened her fridge to help put something away.  I felt so inadequate, standing there staring into the gleaming cleanness of her fridge.  It was so white and bright and clean.  I knew, instinctively, that my fridge was not like this fridge.  I knew that I was not like this person.  Everything matched.  It all lined up.  It was a little fridge heaven.  I think of that fridge now.  And that obviously sick, depraved mind that cleaned the fridge every day and kept it sparkling like the Holy Grail. ;-)

So, now, I have a toothpick and I am scraping in my fridge in the corners.

EVERYTHING HAS A LID! HOW CAN IT LEAK? Is Fred getting up at night and eating?  Is he having a party in the fridge?  Maybe Jam is.  Maybe Jam is learning to open the fridge and undoing the lids.  I wouldn't put it past him.  And Willow just watches.  She sits in the kitchen and watches him do it.

How do crumbs get in here?  I'm not actually eating or making the sandwich IN THE FRIDGE. Shouldn't the crumbs be ON THE COUNTER?

My fridge is sparkly clean now. You can come over and open it and see.  I mean, it isn't like that friend of a friend's fridge.  I'm not obsessive.  There might be a crumb.  Or two.  Crap.  I better go back and check on things.

Dewey and Jam on the porch.

And Jam, I'm watching you, buddy!