I’m dog sitting for a couple of weeks, something I like to do. People keep telling me I need a dog. No, thank you. I’ve had a dog–a miniature dachshund. Sure, I’m a dog person, but after years of caring for beasties, both human and canine, I’m ready for a break. Dogs are work. Just look at the two with me now. Although HINT: they had a tempting start, I’m sitting outside watching them as I write this and by the time I got to this sentence, I’d been out of the chair three times to check on them. The first time, they were eating the bushes–seriously, they uproot them and chew. The second time, they were both way too interested in the corner of the grill, sniffing intently and pawing. I had to investigate in case they’d found a toad. See, toads have a toxin in their skin and dogs who eat them go on a bad trip, as they used to say. Apparently there is foaming at the mouth, disorientation, and failure to recognize humans. I do not want to verify this. The third occasion was because, even though they’d had a yummy breakfast of dried dog food, they were eating, uhm, disgusting material. Good times.

And then there is their stuff. They arrived with two crates, eleven chew toys, two baby gates that had to be installed, bowls, collars, leashes, harnesses, two kinds of treats, about ninety-five pounds of dog food, Benadryl, glucosamine tablets, a giant dog bed, four blankets, and three single-spaced pages of instructions.

I know what some of you are thinking: get a cat. But that’s because you’re cat people. Dog people are thinking: at least there’s no litter box.

So which are you? Dog person or cat person?