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Kennel Rations

I HAVE DONE A LOT OF TRULY "ODD JOBS" IN MY LIFE, from hash house waitress to a counselor in a therapeutic community for heroin addicts, but my oddest was the kennels.

It was Michigan, 1975, in the depths of a recession. I had just graduated with a degree in something called "Ethnic and Intergroup Relations". Offer letters were NOT filling my mailbox. My biggest employment opportunity appeared to be the birthday coordinator at McDonald's when I saw the ad. "Kennel keepers wanted ... live in help, room and board plus expenses".

It sounded good. I liked animals and it would beat going home to Mom. The phone interview with my prospective boss was not encouraging. He never had "girls" do the job before, just male vet students. My perkiness notwithstanding, I needed a partner to show up and get the job.

So who do you get for a partner when you are looking for someone desperate for room, board, and dog food? You find an unemployed folk singer. I very causally knew of a coffee house musician who was at loose ends. Looking back on it, I can hardly believe that I went up to a total stranger and asked if she wanted to work in a dog kennel with me. The audacity of youth. What is even more amazing is that she took me up on it.

Summer of 1975 found me living in my employer's basement, along with my antisocial cat, Mary Sue the musician, a guitar, autoharp and concertina. Our charges were 3 greyhounds, 3 Manchester terriers, 6 whippets, 2 Italian greyhounds and about a dozen Abyssinian cats. We made $14.00 a week and had to hitchhike into Michigan State University for a shower.

The dogs ate better than we did. In the evenings, we would go down to the kennels, set a pound of hamburger on slow heat, adding to it garlic, salt and basil. In the morning, we would add the cooked meat to two kinds of kibble, feed the dogs and clean out the runs. Mary Sue would start singing to the dogs at 6:00 am, while I dragged myself down to face the dog poop.

In some ways, this was one of my favorite jobs. It kept the financial wolf from my door while I decompressed from college and a broken love affair. In between feeding and cleaning, I had time to think about what I wanted to do, now that I was a "grown up". I was proud that I could make do under tough situations... that I didn't have to return to my parents house when money was tight. I could depend upon myself to make good, if off-beat, decisions.

I spent five months at the kennels, before heading off to VISTA (now AmericaCorps), and Mary Sue headed off to religious studies. It's been over 20 years now; I carry these lessons with me to this day: sing in the mornings, believe in yourself, and a little garlic makes everything taste better.

Memoir 1: Kennel Rations
Memoir 2: A Memorable Meal
Memoir 3: Free to Be You and Me

Sedaris on Midmorning