What pet sitter notes are really for

This essay follows episode 2 of the Pawplexity Pawdcast, “The instructions we leave for our pet sitters”.

On care, control, and trying to be understood in our absence.

Every time I left Makenzie with someone else, I wrote things down. It usually started as a list about feeding, walks, treats, toys, and where things are. But then I would add context: how she reacts to certain situations, what looks like excitement but isn’t, what helps her settle. What began as logistics gradually became description. At some point, the document stopped being about tasks and started trying to translate a dog.

In the beginning, I didn’t feel comfortable leaving her alone at home. I preferred finding sitters, assuming that being with people would be easier than being alone. The notes grew out of that assumption. Over time, it became clearer that staying with other people, even people she loves, could be more demanding for her than being alone.

The instructions we leave for pet sitters often expand beyond practicality. They move from “what to do” into “who this dog is.” Even when the essential details are covered, another line is added. The notes begin to carry more than logistics.

Part of this is sensible. Dogs rely on predictability. Familiar cues can support regulation, especially when context changes. Writing things down can preserve continuity. Leaving a dog means transferring responsibility for someone who depends on you emotionally as well as practically. It means not being present to notice subtle shifts. The notes can begin to hold that absence as much as the care itself.

Makenzie is a Shiba Inu. She is selective. Loyal to her own people and slower to extend trust beyond them. Even people she loves, she would not stay with for long periods without strain. Affection did not always translate into emotional ease. Tolerance is not the same as comfort.

Care becomes more complex when agency is uneven from the start. Dogs do not choose the situations we place them in. They do not choose being left. They do not choose the energy of a room once we are gone. Whatever care looks like, that imbalance of control can shape how it is experienced.

Daycare offers a useful example. It is active, social, stimulating. From the outside, it often looks successful. Dogs play, interact, and return home tired. Tired is observable, but settled is harder to measure.

When we tried daycare, Makenzie appeared enthusiastic. She pulled toward the building. She loved the people. She loved play. And yet, once there without us, she struggled to eat or rest. She returned exhausted in a way that did not reset her. Enjoyment and overwhelm can coexist. Positive arousal and distress are not always easy to distinguish. Engagement can mask overload. Especially in our absence, visible activity can be misread as coping. Assumptions begin to wobble there.

For a long time, I repeated ideas that circulate easily: that dogs need to be tired out, that group settings are inherently good for them, that resilience is built through exposure. Some of those ideas did not hold consistently when applied to her.

Research increasingly points toward the role of emotional security, environmental quality, and access to rest. The ability to disengage appears central to recovery. Situations with little perceived control can carry more physiological load than they show externally. Exposure does not always build resilience in the way we assume. Sometimes what looks like coping may be closer to accumulation.

Which brings the reflection back to the notes. They sit somewhere between preparation and protection. Between sharing information and trying to transfer relationship. Between care and control.

Some elements of care — attunement, timing, the ability to read subtle signals — are difficult to reduce to bullet points. They depend on presence. A set of instructions can outline feeding times and walking routes. Understanding, however, rarely fits neatly into a document. It depends on presence. And presence is the one thing that notes cannot carry.

Which brings the reflection back to the notes. They sit somewhere between preparation and protection. Between sharing information and trying to transfer relationship. Between care and control.

Some elements of care — attunement, timing, the ability to read subtle signals — are difficult to reduce to bullet points. They depend on presence.

A set of instructions can outline feeding times and walking routes.

Understanding, however, rarely fits neatly into a document.

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