Laptops, Luggage & Leashes: Driggs = Dud

Buckle up for the flipside of Trusted Housesitters. Every app begs the question "Is this situation or person really as advertised?" Trusted Housesitters is no exception...

My first day as Director of Project Management for Inizio Evoke was November 10^th, meaning I would start the job while finishing my sit with Nelson, and continue my first week while in Driggs, Idaho.

My Driggs sit was sold as “Ski at Grand Targhee" in a nice cabin at the base in the resort town. I had planned to use these 10 days as an opportunity to experience life as a hermit in a winter cabin and get back onto cross-country skis. They had a cat and three dogs – who were free to roam in and out of the house to the fenced yard outside and encouraged to take off leash on local trails a few times a week. “Very low maintenance” was the promise when I voiced my concern about the number of animals for a solo sitter. I was told Junior was the old dog of the owner’s father, who had moved in with them until his passing. He was a chill and lazy dog that liked to bark at trucks and new people. (Junior wasn’t a problem, other than being smelly.) Maude is sweet and very food-motivated. Ruthie was their adorable, high-energy pup who is a little “bossy.” Francis was the “best cat in the world.” They even sent me AI-generated playing cards for each dog.

That was the advertisement. The reality…

The cabin was super cluttered and the photos in the app were from the real estate listing - the furniture wasn’t even the same. There was no snow, so skiing wasn't going to happen (not the owner's fault, but it didn't help.) I was told to work at the kitchen table, which was ¾ filled with boxes, mail, and plants, and where the dogs were constantly right on top of me. (I discovered a separate office in a detached back garage with a gym where he worked remote, but it wasn’t in the listing or offered to me as an option. I stumbled upon it on my way to the greenhouse.) The dogs weren’t really trained to be around a remote worker. They went nuts on Zoom calls, and would often fight with each other right behind me on camera. Even with the background blur, people could see what was going on and hear them attacking each other whenever I came off mute. I was mortified.

The room I stayed in belonged to their teenage son and had the overwhelming aroma of mouse feces. As a 49-year-old woman, I'm no longer offended by the mirror laden with stickers saying “penis” and “Mary’s nipple” (the latter I assume is a ski run or nearby trail) since profanity and adolescent humor was apparently the theme of the pastiche. But I never had a teenage son, and teen girls DO NOT smell like teenage boys. Do boys really smell like rodent shit dipped in body odor?! I could hardly breathe – much less sleep – in that room.

Back to the dogs. Ruthie is the D.E.V.I.L. She’s a two-year-old Fox Terrier, but I didn’t know that was code for satanic demon dog from Hell. She relentlessly and viciously attacked all the animals, all the time. And I don’t mean barking and nipping. She leapt and grabbed Maude’s entire neck in her jaw with her little body hovering off the ground, suspended from her not-sister’s throat. I had to force her yappy little trap open to pry her off, minding that Maude didn’t bite me while writhing to get Ruthie off herself. She only nipped at Junior, so I assume he did something to indicate he’s too big and old for that shit. The “sweetest cat in the world” steered clear of Ruthie altogether and hung out in the cabin loft. He came down to be fed on top of a cabinet while Ruthie stood guard barking and jumping up to get him. If I pet the cat, Ruthie growled at me until I pet her while the cat skittered away back to the loft. Ruthie required my constant attention, even while I was working, and would jump up near or on me if I wasn’t petting her or acknowledging her. She wasn’t motivated by positive reinforcement or treats, and when I grabbed her muzzle, made eye contact and gave a stern “No!” it was obvious nobody had ever done that before. I even went so far as putting her back in the car alone while walking the other dogs because I couldn’t control her on one of our outings. I was afraid she would attack a non-family dog on the trail who would retaliate. (Truth: Or maybe I was secretly hoping for it and didn’t trust myself not to drop the leash when a husky or other hunting dog was ready to show her who’s boss.)

It's good they left their Subaru, because there’s no way I would put these dogs in my vehicle. Especially because Ruthie tried to sit on my lap in the front seat and nearly went through the window when she saw another dog. She even jumped into the front console, sending the shifter into Park and hitting the caution lights button.

I was grateful for my All Trails to even figure out where to take these dogs in their “dog car.” Maps wasn’t great and didn’t show any of the trails in that area. The directions the owner printed out for me said things like “Head North and take the 2^nd, maybe 3^rd, right – at Bob’s house – toward the high school.”

Da heck?

I’ve never been here and have no freaking clue who Bob is. Don’t get me started on the instructions for opening her mail (yes, she did), unboxing and prepping her new plants, taking care of her greenhouse, and trying to clarify feeding directions for which food to give which dogs when they didn’t match the food provided. About the food… I had to mix their dry food with a spoonful of yogurt, PB protein powder, and mix it with a little water. I also had to crumble probiotics into Junior’s dish. I had to feed each dog in separate rooms, in a certain order, and then police them from eating each other’s food. High maintenance doesn’t begin to describe it.

One low maintenance thing was key management. When she messed up the dates and left the day before I was supposed to arrive, I arranged my schedule to drive over after work that night, arriving around midnight. I asked where I would find the key, to which she responded “I don’t even have a key anymore. I’m not sure where I left it, so we just leave the house unlocked all the time.” I informed her I would be locking the house at night. I guess I didn’t need to because the neighborhood broke out in a symphony of barking dogs anyway. All. Nine. Nights. And guess where I found the keys to the “dog car”? Yep, in the car ignition. In their open car port. Literally anyone could have walked up and stolen their car between the time they left and I arrived that night. Oh Idaho!

Well, it’s a small tourist town and everybody knows everybody. But I guess it’s rural Idaho, so I bet they're all armed and it’s more about confidence your aim is better than your neighbor’s.

Calendars are as useless as locks in their world; they texted me they were on their way home a day before scheduled. I began packing up my stuff immediately and arranged my work schedule to head back to Boise that afternoon, planning stops on the way in Rexburg and Pocatello to call in for meetings. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. When they returned home, they were shocked I wasn’t willing to stay another night – with them home – because they had made plans to go into work the next day and basically wanted me to babysit their dogs again? Seriously? This was after I asked if Ruthie always behaves that way, and they laughed it off with, “Oh yeah, she’s our jealous little bitch.” And did something recently expire in the son’s room or is that normal? “Oh yeah, he used to keep white rats as pets.” I politely explained the environment wasn’t conducive to me working or sleeping and I would be heading back to Boise rather than stay.

When I returned to Boise a day early, my sister was gracious enough to let me stay with them again since none of my Air BnB favorites were available and I was scheduled to move into my cottage rental the following day. From end of November through Christmas Eve, I rented a little two-bedroom cottage on Boise’s Central Rim through Furnished Finder. It was sweet, quiet and perfect. It was nice to have a place to fully unpack and settle in for a bit. I even “stocked up” a little on groceries.