First and foremost, I just want to throw this in here when I tell you.  (****No animals were harmed intentionally while they were in my care.****)  With that said, on with the story.

So, I got a cool house-sitting gig from my industry friend, Yvette.  Yvette tells me that she needs me to house-sit for her two animals, Bailey (who is the cutest beagle you have ever seen) and Sapphire (who is Queen Feline around the joint) while she is away for four days in Toronto.  I thought about this:  1) a house right on the beach; and 2) a break away from the crazy traffic and hustle and bustle of L.A.  What more could a small town, slightly bougie boy ask for, right?  So, this was the mission and I chose to accept it.

Meeting Bailey the beagle for the first time was quite funny.  I let him sniff me so that he can get used to me.  He reminds me of that cartoon character Droopy Dog.  He's got the looks of Droopy, but on crack.  Yvette hands me her list of TO-DO things while she is away.  One thing on the list was that I could let Bailey out for his usual stroll.  As I was working on my computer, I saw Master Bailey scratch at the door.  I immediately knew it was time to let him out for his leisure stroll.  So, as I opened that thick tempered glass door, Bailey darts out like he was a rabbit at one of those dog races and speeds down the beach.  I close the glass door and stand outside so that I won't let the cat out.  Got to think about Sapphire here, can't just think about the pooch.  Well, 10 minutes has passed by as I was sitting out reading my book and I spot Bailey in the distance.  I call out to him to come back towards the house.  So, as he hears my voice, he charges the exact same way he left and as he makes his way towards the glass door, SPLAT!!!, Bailey hits that tempered glass, knocks over the flower pot and knocks himself unconscious.  It all happened so fast and the utter shock and amazement washed completely over my face as I looked at the small crack in the tempered glass.

My immediate reaction was fear.  I thought, "Holy sh**, Yvette is going to kill me!  I am probably the worse house-sitter that has ever lived.  I immediately ran inside and got the address to Yvette's veterinarian, which was only six blocks away from her home, I picked up the unconscious poochie and put him in the driver seat of the car.  As I am speeding down the street and blowing my horn at slow drivers, Bailey shook himself awake.  I said to myself, "Thank God this dog is awake, but I am still taking you to the vet anyways!"  So, as I make it to the vet's office, I have Bailey in my arms at the front desk asking for the doctor.

As I tell the nurse the story, Bailey's vet comes out and sees him.  The doctor's initial response was:  "Bailey!  Is that you again?"  And once again, my mind was racing as I said softly:  "Again?"  Let's just say folks that Bailey has made several trips to the vet which Yvette has neglected to tell me.

As I take Bailey home from getting checked out.  I put him in the middle of the floor and he wouldn't move thinking that there was glass all around him.  He wouldn't even come to his food as I had to set it in front of him.  Two days have passed and Yvette finally comes home.  Me, being the responsible person that I am, wanted to explain to her that her dog slammed into thick tempered glass.  I apologized profusely for allowing Bailey to hurt himself.  She begins to laugh and tell me:  "Jerod, I forgot to tell you when you let him out, please make sure you leave that tempered glass door open because if you don't, he will run into it for sure!  He's done this before as he's not the brightest bulb in the shed." 

All in all, my misadventures with Bailey has inspired me to write him in a current screenplay that I am working on.  I'm just glad that Yvette paid me and that I can house-sit for her whenever she's away, provided I leave the tempered glass door open.