Our 7 week house-sit is done, and not a splash of milk to be seen.
- brittanyaus
- Nov 6, 2023
- 4 min read
We’ve wrapped up a 7-week house-sit in Denman, a small, quiet, country town about 250km north of Sydney, or 100kms north-east of Cessnock, for us. Denman is a nice little place with a focus on horse breeding, farms, and vineyards—the main street still carries the charm of early 1900’s Australia, which we find quite appealing, and there’s even a fantastic kid’s playground—we’ve noticed this as a common feature in most country towns, to this point in our travels anyway.
Our house-sit was a 5-minute drive out of town, situated amongst 10 acres of bushland. Driving the windy, washed-out, dirt driveway, a couple of hundred meters long, was the first time we’d had the van substantially dipping, rocking, and moving about—off-road, quite literally. With the homeowners heading out for an International flight the following morning, we spent the afternoon getting acquainted with how things were done and what was to be expected during their time away. There was not a lot to be done, really—the lawns didn’t need to be done, and there were no gardens to be watered or maintained. The main purpose of the sit was to look after the 3-legged, toothless dog, and ensure the 3 chooks were fed, had water, and were locked up for the night.
Alicia was tasked with learning how to feed the dog, a very specific process which entailed measuring an amount of dry dog food, shredded roast chicken, a small handful of cheese, a sprinkling of canine supplements, designed purely to make a veterinarian’s bank balance a little heavier, some water (either bottled water, or boiled tap water—with further instruction to ensure that, if the latter was used, it has cooled), and possibly the single most peculiar instruction, exactly 3 “forkfuls” of yoghurt. Now, we’re not talking some firm, super-think, pot-set yoghurt, which perhaps you could fork out before it separates—we were dealing with a wet, fairly thin natural yogurt. There are things you can measure by the forkful—pretty much anything you can balance on, or stab with the fork tines—meat, probably jelly, a baked potato, even mashed potato—but a forkful of yoghurt? We can report, however, that our canine friend did in fact receive his fork-measured dose of yoghurt in each meal.
Where we did draw the line, however, was pouring milk on, what could have been, a beautiful timber floor. Following Alicia’s hands on, and eagerly supervised dog feeding instruction, the homeowner says, “now, when you’re making your coffee in the morning you’ll notice that the dog will come into the kitchen and sit by your feet, so just pour a splash of milk on the floor so he can lick it up”. To which Alicia responds with something like, well sorry (dog), you’re shit out of luck—we don’t have milk with our tea or coffee. To which the owner retorted, “Well, it’s his only treat, so if you could just splash some milk on the floor.” Sure enough, the dog did hobble into to the kitchen, but the kitchen (floor), however, was bear—not a splash of milk was to be seen. In fact, our canine friend was instructed to get out, and stay out, of the kitchen! Look, I get it, we come and look after someone’s home, and pets, and you could argue that we should provide the same level of care. But we don’t do dog’s in kitchens.
The home itself had the potential to be a beautiful little country cottage but, instead, was, well, disgusting. At first entry, all seemed okay, and on asking if the owner would like shoes removed, she said “yes, you just never know what your shoes walk in, and that’s gross.” Couldn’t agree more. Once the owners left, and the dust settled (I don’t think it ever settled), wow. The owners preferred we stay in the house—company for the dog, and all that. We managed 3 nights. We didn’t expect 1000 thread-count sheets, but the sheets on the bed were thin enough to see the large, sweat-stain mold through the sheets. They did purchase a new quilt, and a quality wool quilt at that. Being new, though, it had this cheesy foot smell (probably lanolin in the wool?) that, when mixed with the sheets that had a kind of faint vomit-like aroma, and the million mosquitos that absolutely smashed poor Alina’s face (she had 16 mosquito bite welts on her face after one night), we decided we were done with sleeping in the house. The ceiling and every wall in the house were plastered with squashed bugs. Like, you know when there’s a mosquito on the wall and you squash it, and what remains on the wall is a black mosquito “print”, if not the carcass itself? The walls, and ceilings, were littered with traces of squashed mosquitos. The floors were thick with dust and dog fur. Behind the TV, bookshelves, and in every cornice, everything, to be fair, was thick with cobwebs. We did message to ask where the head of the vacuum was, only to be told “it’s under the laundry sink, but we don’t use it”. You don’t say. The washing machine filter was full of a slimy sludge, and the mesh bag/filter thingy was moldy. It can’t ever have been cleaned. We always wore slippers inside but did ensure that we always took our outside shoes off—I mean, wearing shoes inside would be gross.
We soon learned that, whilst it did serve a purpose, most notably a base from which to get ourselves set up and sorted, a 7 week house-sit was just far too long. So, while we couldn’t say goodbye to that place quick enough, Denman, itself, was a quaint little country town with some character that we quite liked. There are a few places, and things, in the area to go and see, so for the next post we’ll park the bitching for a bit and share some more about what the region has to offer.
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