Laugh Out Loud, Pets Across America? Okay, it’s a little corny, but in this case, it’s true. If you like funny (and touching) stories about pets, you’ll like this book.
I have to give a disclaimer here, I wrote one of the stories in Pets Across America. It’s about my dog Sinbad, a small poodle, who terrorized my babysitter (with my help, I was a little rascal at times); you can read my story in the excerpt below.
Pets Across America is supposed to be about the life lessons that pets teach us, but in my case those lessons were mischievous, so I’m not sure why my story got accepted.
If you want to buy Pets Across America, it’s for a good cause, the editor, Pam Uher is giving a portion of the proceeds to animal shelters. And now, here is my excerpt:
When I was growing up, we always had pets in the house, especially dogs. My favorite was our poodle, Sinbad.
Sinbad was not a cute poodle, the kind you dress up like Jon Benet Ramsey for a beauty contest, but a troublemaker and my partner in crime. Even though I was an only child, I never felt like one when I was with my “bro,” who just happened to have a tail
My teenage babysitter Sheila was terrified of Sinbad, even though he only weighed about 20 pounds. Whenever she came over to sit with me, Sheila always asked my mom, “Is Sinbad locked up?” Little did she realize the horror that awaited her!
My mom would assure her that Sinbad was safely locked away in a back bedroom, and he was, until my mom left. Then I would sneak to the bedroom and quietly crack the door, just enough for Sinbad to open it all the way with his black wet nose.
Seconds later, he’d be running towards the kitchen where Sheila was cooking dinner. She’d go into a panic at the sound of his little toenails tapping against the hallway floor, coming closer and closer. The seventeen-year-old would quickly climb a bar stool where my small poodle would “tree her.”
While she squirmed and yelled at the top of the stool, Sinbad would jump, click his teeth, and try to bite her feet. She’d call for me to help, but I would feign fear, “Gosh, I don’t want Sinbad to bite me.”
While Sinbad had Sheila treed, I would stay up late and watch TV.
Those lovely moments brought me a great deal of joy, but for some odd reason Sheila stopped being my babysitter. In her place, I got a cranky old woman named Mrs. Brigg, who wasn’t afraid of fierce poodles.
To make matters worse, my mother gave Sinbad away. Maybe she was afraid of being sued. Once he ran over to the next door neighbor’s yard and bit our elderly neighbor on the foot. But in Sinbad’s defense, our 80-something neighbor did wear an eye patch, so it’s possible that he might have mistaken her for a pirate.
When mom gave Sinbad away, it was more than just the loss of my dog, it was the end of my tender childhood. Seemingly overnight, I went from kid to baggage handler.
I say “baggage handler” because it seemed like I was always carrying luggage for a visiting relative or family friend (we lived in Orlando, next Disney World, so that happened often). Fortunately, that era of involuntary servitude ended when I decided to unionize myself and asked for wages and a tip.
But I’ll never forget those precious moments with Sinbad, who gave this only child an amazing childhood. Sinbad showed me that you could make your own fun. You didn’t need video games or an iPod. You just needed one poodle and one babysitter.
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