dogs

Barks Are Loud, but Snores Tell the Story: A Sitter’s Guide to Canine Melodies

~ Natal Galvan ~ Leave a comment

Don’t get me wrong, I know my “woofs.” As a dog sitter, I’ve learned that a bark is a language of its own. I can hear the difference between the “there’s a squirrel” yip and the “hey, I’m hungry” huff. But if you really want to know a dog’s soul? You have to listen to them sleep.
While barks have character, snores have personality. In my time pet sitting, I’ve found that snores are the ultimate “tell.” They are unique, often hilarious, and frequently make zero sense compared to the dog they’re coming from. It’s a symphony of sleep that I’ve come to recognize better than any wagging tail or pointed ear.

The Great “Size vs. Sound” Mystery

The most entertaining part of my job is the “Identity Crisis” snore. You’d think a dog’s sleep sounds would match their stature, but in the canine world, the physics of sound work a little differently.

  • The Delicate Giant: I’ve looked after massive, “ferocious” barkers, dogs with a deep, chest-rattling boom that sounds like a thunderstorm. Yet, when they hit the pillow? They emit the daintiest, softest little skips of breath you’ve ever heard. It’s like a tiny bird trapped in a bear’s body.
  • The Pocket-Sized Powerhouse: Then there are the tiny ones. I once sat for a dog no bigger than a loaf of bread who managed to out-snore my significant other. It wasn’t just a sound; it was a rhythmic, house-shaking roar that defied the laws of biology.

The “Snoreshelf”: A Field Guide

Every dog brings their own unique “instrument” to the sleep orchestra. Here are the most common ones I’ve encountered:

| Snore Type | The Sound | The Vibe |
| The Flutter-Leaf | A soft, rhythmic thrum-thrum of the lips. | Pure, unadulterated peace. |


| The Old Man Humbug | A series of low, grumbly sighs and nasal whistles. | Sounds like they’re complaining about the price of kibble in their dreams. |


| The Steam Engine | A heavy, chugging inhale followed by a dramatic “pfffft!” | Usually belongs to a dog who spent the day doing “big jobs” (like napping). |


| The Deflating Balloon | A high-pitched squeal that slowly fades out. | Hilarious, confusing, and totally endearing. |


Why the Noise Makes My Heart Melt

There is something so deeply rewarding about a dog snoring in your care. A bark is often a demand or a warning, but a snore? A snore is a compliment.
It means they’ve reached that level of deep, heavy REM sleep where they feel completely safe. When the house is quiet and I hear those bizarre, mismatched, and sometimes confusing nasal melodies, I can’t help but smile. They aren’t just sleeping; they’re telling me they’re home.
Barks might tell me what they want, but the snores tell me they’re happy.

The Bell, The Door, The Manager Who Wasn’t Ready

~ Natal Galvan ~ Leave a comment

When I dropped Ishka off at the groomer’s today, I found myself asking a very simple question: Why do some people wake up and choose unpleasantries? Like… is it a hobby? A lifestyle? A calling?

Our appointment was at 8 a.m. 

I arrived at 8:04, which, in dog‑parent time, is basically early. I’m juggling my purse, my keys, and a very excited Ishka who is doing full‑body wiggles in my arms. I sprint up to the automatic doors… and they don’t open. Not even a pity shudder. Just a cold, silent “no.”

This is confusing because they also book 7 a.m. appointments, which implies that human beings should be inside. I stand there for a solid five minutes, watching the cleaning crew zip past me like I’m a ghost they’ve sworn not to acknowledge. They’re doing Olympic‑level eye‑avoidance. I could’ve been holding a sign that said “HELP ME” and they still would’ve stared at the floor like it owed them money.

Fine. I go back to my car and call.

They answer immediately.

“Hi, I have an 8 a.m. appointment but the doors won’t open.”

“That’s because we’re closed. I’ll be right out.” 

Click.

No goodbye. No “hold on one moment.” Just a dial tone and the faint sound of my patience evaporating.

I look at Ishka, who has finally settled into a cozy little loaf in my arms, and apologize for the emotional whiplash she’s about to experience.

I walk back to the door, dodging puddles and salt piles like I’m navigating a booby‑trapped temple. The manager unlocks the door, looks at me, and says:

“Didn’t ring the bell?”

I blink. “Hi, good morning… I’m sorry… what?”

She gestures toward the world’s tiniest button: a microscopic dot all the way to the far right of the doors. Beneath it is an equally microscopic sign that says, Ring Bell During Off Business Hours. You would need a magnifying glass, a flashlight, and a prayer to notice it.

“You’re supposed to ring the bell,” she repeats, smiling at the neighboring business like she’s just solved world hunger.

“Well, no one mentioned a bell when I booked,” I say, already over this conversation. “But now I know for next time.”

I walk past her into the groomer’s office, where I’m greeted by a young woman who looks like she woke up ten minutes ago and lost the battle with her alarm clock. Honestly, same,  but I’m not the one holding scissors near someone’s dog.

Here’s my issue: 

If you’re going to schedule grooming appointments before business hours, maybe, just maybe, tell people about the secret doorbell. Send a text. Leave a voicemail. Train a carrier pigeon. Anything.

And if you’re the manager opening the store, maybe keep an eye on the door instead of assuming customers will magically intuit the existence of a button the size of a Tic Tac.

It blows my mind how often customers are treated like we’re inconveniencing a business by… going to the business. And spending money. Wild concept.

And don’t even get me started on mobile groomers. I’ve left voicemails. I’ve sent emails. I’ve practically begged. Not a single call back. At this point, I’m convinced mobile groomers are a myth, like unicorns, or people who enjoy folding fitted sheets.

What happened to customer service? When did sarcasm become the default setting? Why is kindness treated like an optional add‑on? The manager’s tone this morning was unnecessary, unhelpful, and honestly exhausting. Being rude takes effort. Being kind is free. And yet here we are.

Anyway, Ishka got her bath. I got a story. And next time, I’ll be ringing that microscopic bell like I’m summoning a butler in a Victorian mansion.

Phoenix’s Midnight Walks: Caring for Senior Dogs with Grace and Compassion

~ Natal Galvan ~ Leave a comment

Phoenix, my most recently adopted senior pitbull, has always carried herself with quiet strength. Once the queen of the couch and the guardian of the front door, she now spends her nights pacing, her paws tracing invisible circles in the dark. Her eyesight has dimmed to shadows, her hearing fades like whispers in the wind, and arthritis has made her hind legs stiff and sore.

Watching her navigate this stage of life is both heartbreaking and humbling. There are moments when I see her confusion, when she forgets where she is or what she was searching for. And yet, there’s resilience in her steps, a reminder that even in frailty, there is dignity.

I’ve walked this road before with Melita, my fur baby of 19 years, whose final days taught me the bittersweet truth of loving deeply: sometimes, love means letting go. Choosing the day to say goodbye was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. With Phoenix, I carry those lessons forward, balancing care, comfort, and compassion.

Caring for a senior dog like Phoenix means creating an environment that feels safe and familiar. Keeping furniture in consistent places and reducing clutter can help ease confusion when dementia causes disorientation. Establishing gentle routines—regular feeding, walks, and rest—provides comfort and predictability, while small adjustments like soft lighting or calming sounds at night can soothe anxiety during pacing spells. Finally, supporting mobility with ramps, orthopedic bedding, and non-slip rugs, alongside veterinary guidance for pain management, ensures your dog can move with dignity and as little discomfort as possible.

•           Create a safe, predictable environment

•           Maintain gentle routines with calming nighttime support

•           Use mobility aids and consult your vet for comfort

Advice for Owners: Caring for Yourself Too

The emotional toll of caring for a senior dog is real, and it’s important to honor your own well-being alongside theirs. Allow yourself to grieve the small changes as they come, recognizing that each shift in ability is a loss worth acknowledging. Seek out community, whether through friends, support groups, or fellow pet owners, because sharing stories lightens the burden and reminds you that you’re not alone. Most importantly, practice self-compassion: sleepless nights and tough decisions are part of the journey, and remembering that you’re doing your best helps you carry the weight with grace.

•           Allow yourself to grieve changes as they happen

•           Seek community and connection with others who understand

•           Practice self-compassion and remind yourself you’re doing your best

Phoenix’s midnight walks remind me that aging is not a loss of spirit, it’s a transformation. Our senior dogs teach us patience, resilience, and the depth of unconditional love. Caring for them in their twilight years is both a challenge and a gift, one that shapes us as much as it comforts them.

And yet, this journey is not only about them, it’s about us, too. It asks us to stretch our hearts wider, to sit with grief even as we celebrate joy, and to recognize that love is not diminished by endings. In fact, it is magnified. Every sleepless night, every gentle touch, every whispered reassurance becomes part of a legacy of devotion that will outlast their physical presence.

So if you find yourself walking alongside a senior dog, know that you are not alone. There is a community of caretakers who understand the bittersweet beauty of this path. Hold onto the small moments, the wag of a tail, the warmth of fur against your hand, the quiet companionship in the dark. These are the treasures that remain long after the pacing stops, long after the goodbyes are spoken.

Phoenix, like Melita before her, reminds me that love is not measured in years but in presence. And in the end, the greatest gift we can give our dogs, and ourselves, is to honor their journey with compassion, courage, and the knowledge that every step together matters.