The Ten-Second Handover: What Belongs on Your Dog Sitter’s Fridge Sheet

It is 7.04am. You are due on a train, the dog is doing his hopeful little tap-dance by the lead hook, and you have just remembered that the sitter does not know about the canal rule. Cue a rambling WhatsApp voice note in which you mention the vet, the biscuits, the back door that sticks, and a distant cousin who once looked after him in 2019. By the time you reach the station, you cannot remember whether you said ‘no leads’ or ‘long lead’. The sitter cannot remember either.

This is not a failure of care. It is a failure of handover. And in 2026, with more of us juggling hybrid work, school runs and trains that are somehow always ‘delayed due to signalling’, the handover deserves better than a voice note recorded at speed.

The ten-second test

Here is the standard to aim for: a sitter should be able to walk into your kitchen, glance at the fridge, and find the answer to any basic question in ten seconds. Vet number. Microchip number. Feeding amount. Whether the dog is allowed off lead near water. Whether the ‘senior’ biscuits in the tin are for the dog or for the neighbour’s cat.

If the information is spread across three WhatsApp messages, a notes app and the back of an old envelope, it is not a handover. It is a treasure hunt. And treasure hunts are lovely on a Sunday walk; they are less lovely when your dog has just eaten something suspicious and the sitter is trying to find out whether your vet closes for lunch.

Why the voice note fails

Voice notes are not evil. They are just linear. A sitter cannot scan them, search them or pin them to a fridge door. They also tend to arrive in the order your brain remembers things, which is rarely the order a sitter needs them. You might spend two minutes on your dog’s adorable habit of carrying a slipper around, then tack on ‘oh, and he takes half a tablet at breakfast’ as the message ends.

A single sheet forces you to decide what matters. It also gives the sitter something to check without interrupting your meeting, your commute or your attempt to buy a coffee before the 07.42.

What goes on the page

Keep it to one side of A4. Use clear headings and short lines. Think of it as a mini manual, not a memoir.

Dog basics: name, breed, age, weight, microchip number, insurance provider and policy number if relevant. Add a recent photo if you have space, especially if your dog is one of several similar-looking spaniels on the same street.

Vet and emergency details: your usual practice, phone number, address, out-of-hours vet, and a line giving permission for emergency treatment up to a sensible amount. Include your own number, a backup contact, and the name of a neighbour who has a key and does not mind being called.

Food and water: exact food, amount, timings, and where it lives. Note allergies, intolerances and the treats that are allowed. Add the quirks: eats in the hallway, drinks from the bathroom tap, will not touch dinner if the radio is off, needs the slow feeder because otherwise tea is inhaled in nine seconds.

Medication: dose, time, hiding place, and what to do if a dose is missed. If your dog is clever enough to spit out tablets, say so. If he is clever enough to fake swallowing, definitely say so.

Walks and lead rules: where to walk, how long, whether off-lead is allowed, and the absolute no-go zones. This is where the canal rule goes. Not ‘he can be a bit tricky near water’ but ‘do not let him off lead anywhere near the canal towpath; he will go in and then act surprised’. Specific beats vague every time.

Behaviour and handling: reactivity to other dogs, cyclists or men in hats; fear of thunder; whether he needs a harness rather than a collar; whether he should be left alone for short periods; where he sleeps. If he needs a minute to warm up, put that in writing so the sitter does not mistake a normal slow introduction for a disaster.

Home quirks: the back door that needs a shoulder, the bin that must be locked, the stair gate that does not latch unless you lift it, the fact that the cat is in charge. Keep it practical.

What to leave off

Leave off the full medical history, the story of how you got him, and every anecdote about the time he stole a whole quiche off the counter. A sitter does not need to know that your dog once barked at a pigeon for eleven minutes in 2023. They need to know what to do today.

Also leave off contradictions. If one line says ‘no human food’ and another says ‘he can have a bit of chicken’, the sitter will spend the day wondering which version of you is in charge. Decide, then write it down.

Where to keep it

The clue is in the name: fridge door. Put the sheet in a clear plastic wallet and stick it at eye level. Take a photo of it and send it to the sitter before they arrive. Keep a second copy in the dog’s walking bag, and save a digital version somewhere obvious, not in a folder called ‘admin old’.

The test is simple. Can someone find it without opening a cupboard, scrolling a chat or ringing you? If yes, you have done the job.

Do a handover walk

Paperwork is not a substitute for showing someone the ropes. Book twenty minutes for a handover walk. Point out the canal gate, the dog that barks from behind the blue door, the bin you use for poo bags, and the exact spot where your dog likes to stop and stare at nothing for reasons known only to him. Let the sitter clip the lead on while you watch. It is amazing how many small details surface when someone else is holding the lead.

Then update the sheet when things change: new medication, new vet, new gate code, new rule about the canal. Write the date at the top. A care sheet from three years ago is not a care sheet; it is an artefact.

Good dog care is mostly boring admin done before the panic. A one-page sheet will not make your dog miss you less, but it will make the sitter’s day easier and your 7am voice note considerably shorter.