Well. This was a first…
The listing advertised both a shower and a bath. In reality: only the hot tap worked - and not just “warm-your-hands” hot, but boil-a-lobster hot. The host, deadpan, admitted they “only use the hot.” Which begs the question if they’re reptilian, or do they bathe in a river?
A lone bucket sat in the corner like it had time-traveled from 1820 - presumably for DIY temperature control using cold water from the kitchen, a garden hose, or divine intervention.
Then… the dog.
The listing described a “challenged but chill” senior dog who “has occasional accidents.” Reality: the dog was barely able to walk or stand, 100% blind, suffering from multiple serious chronic diseases, and on a medication schedule the size of the Bible - from morning till midnight.
Sweet creature - but terminally ill and absolutely not manageable by anyone other than the owners or a paid professional.
So, I was basically lured into an involuntary hospice rotation. Was mopping from morning until bedtime. Then again after the nighttime accidents. At no point did the floor dry before the next wave hit. Like cleaning in a monsoon - only warmer, smellier, and much, much sadder.
Because the dog was blind, it moved through it. Slipped in it. Spread it. No rugs. No barriers. Just slippery tile and wood — like a dog obstacle course designed by a sociopath.
The apartment: Filthy on arrival. The fridge looked radioactive. The whole place reeked. I had to open every window just to function.
The hallway was blocked with furniture to prevent the dog from moving anywhere else due to the gravity of it’s accidents. Which meant you had to climb through furniture to reach the toilet, kitchen, bedroom, and living room. Cabinets where lined with towels to absorb leaks from the accidents - that’s how serious it was.
The listing (and photos) painted a picture of a clean, welcoming stay and an easy-going, chill old dog. Reality: a marathon of scrubbing bodily fluids and solids, while trying not to lose your mind or slip and join the chaos.
The only thing “chill” were the hosts - who apologized, yes, but seemed bizarrely unbothered. They appeared nice… which some might fairly argue they can’t be, since no truly decent person would leave a dying pet with a stranger.
In conclusion: A complete nightmare. And genuinely feel sorry for that poor dog living like this. The only reasons I didn’t leave day one: it was only two nights (mercifully), I have a good heart, and apparently too many hours logged in Sunday school. Obviously, I had to cancel all other plans during this.
I agreed for a peaceful stay and ended up with an unpaid medical internship, no functional shower (which I desperately needed), and a vision-and scent memory that I will never forget. Honestly, feel violated by the gravity of what I walked into.
Can’t find much guidance in the terms on what to do in situations like this - maybe because most people assume something like this only happens in nightmares..which it was.