Y’all may love your pets, and that’s fine.  However, for some folks (including my spouse), pet allergies are a real pain when it comes to booking hotel rooms.  Here’s the problem: so‑called “pet-friendly” hotels will proudly advertise that fact, whereas hotels that don’t allow pets tend to bury that info in their policies page.  Seems that, in the hotel business, the dictum “never tell the customer no” is always in force — even when certain customers (again my spouse) would benefit by being told so up front.

A brief aside.  By law, service dogs have free access to hotels, and hotels cannot ask guests with service dogs to pay room-cleaning fees.  So, when one is searching for a hotel room, neither the absence of a pet-friendly badge nor the presence of a service-dog-only policy means much to an allergy sufferer.  Nothing guarantees the searcher that any given room was not most-recently occupied by Fur-Flying Fido, shedding whatever bio-bits that Fido had a federally-protected right to shed and the hotel has no federal obligation to clean up.

And the designation “pet-friendly” is itself ambiguous.  Does it mean the hotel not only welcomes pets but charges a low cleaning fee (or none at all) when pets stay in your room?  Or does it mean the hotel has no designated pet-free rooms?  Or that the hotel makes no extra effort to clean rooms where pets have stayed?

I have a sneaking suspicion (aren’t all suspicions of that kind?) that the extent to which a hotel room is cleaned has zero correlation with either the presence/absence of a pet or the pet-friendliness of the hotel or the size of any room-cleaning fee.  Those who know better may correct me if I’m wrong, but my guess is, you get what you get.  And what you will get if the hotel has a no-pet policy or charges more than a nominal cleaning fee are guests who sneak their dogs and cats into their rooms anyway and then lie about it.

So what can one do?  My spouse and I were discussing this a while back when I was searching for (you guessed it) a pet-free hotel in Ohio.  To make things easier in my searches, I had been bookmarking pet-free hotels in a folder named No Pet Hotels and — so I didn’t waste time on them — pet-friendly hotels in a folder named Pet Hotels XXX.  (Which is not the name of an adult film, shame on you.)

Wouldn’t it be easier, we said to each other, if there were a way to filter searches so that only pet-free hotels pop up?  Inspired, I did a Google search for “pet free hotels” and while I got lots of results for hotels where pets stay free, I found no results for no-pet hotels.

That got us to thinking (always a dangerous thing) that some website needs to fill the void.  We could call it petfreehotels.com.  So, in a giddy, anything-is-possible-on-the-internet moment, we decided to buy the petfreehotels.com domain and start building a database of hotels that publish a no-pets-allowed policy on their sites.

The site is up and running now — and there are over 2000 hotels on the list.  I add hotels to the list every month — I also receive suggestions from readers on hotels to add and/or remove from the list.  There are maps too!  It’s been an interesting hobby, and hope some of you may find it valuable.  Pet-Free Hotels.

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What better way to waste a few seconds of your time today than with this short collection of write-your-own-ending limericks?  Pick the last lines you like best, or invent your own.


A.

My zoo friend, Sir Çedric Gorilla
likes to flaunt that initial cedilla
When asked why, he will say
“Sounds like S not like K

(1) “Of français I have learned a scintilla!”
(2) “But of course, you would know that, Prisçilla.”
(3) “Now gimme back my banana, will ya?”


B.

One day in the House of Kardashian
Kim was dragging a gown out her mansion
Pete, glaze-eyed, looked on, mumbled
“Babe, sump’n wrong?” and Kim said,

(1) “This dustrag is sooo out-of-fashion!”
(2) “It was just something old to put trash in.”
(3) “It’s a shirt Kanye wore to smoke hash in.”


C.

Mister Paranoid wailed to his shrink,
“So tell me, Doc, what do you think?
Is it them?  Is it me?
That guy there?”  Replied she:

(1) “It’s the trolls hiding under your sink.”
(2) “No, we all hate you here at the clinic!”
(3) “What really matters is what you think.”


D.

José, guacamole aficionado,
could not tolerate ripe avocado
If even one bite was yellow,
he would curse you and bellow,

(1) “How dare you muck up my tostado!”
(2) “¡Tirar esta meirde el escusado!” *
(3) “This tastes like a vomit tornado!”


E.

There is an old orange man from Florida
who made our lives horrid and horrider
He would rant long and loud
to his unruly crowds

(1) And those dumbasses think he’s an orator.
(2) ‘Til he got them to storm through the corridors.
(3) Now he wants to come back and do more of it!


* Translation of Limerick D, Ending (2): “This shit should be flushed down the potto!”
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For Christmas last year, my kind and considerate daughter-in-law gave me a book about writing, written by a real writer, Anne somebody.  I appreciated the gesture but started to wonder whether my daughter-in-law’s message was, “I’ve read what you write and find it hard to believe you have been getting away with this all these years.”

The thing is, I am a bad writer!  I admit it!  I have a friend who is a good writer but I suck!  One of my worst habits is using too many exclamation points!  But I just can’t stop myself!  Sometimes I use two of them at once!!

No, can’t write.  Sentence structure awful.  And, paragraphs.

Sometimes I start new paragraphs for no good reason.  Other times I just keep writing the same paragraph with a brand new thought, like all the times I use the same word, such as times, multiple times in the same paragraph.  Any decent writer would spread some of those times around to other paragraphs.  But most times I don’t know better, since I am a bad writer times ten!

So there’s that about how paragraphs should be about just one thing, the thing that the first sentence is about.  Good writers use vivid metaphors and similes.  I can’t write a metaphor to save my life.  Whenever I try to summon up a metaphor or simile, I just look longingly at the screen like a dumb dog that accidentally drops his treat down a hole and can’t retrieve it — he just stands there barking.  That’s me.  A dog without a metaphor.

I can’t use descriptive language either.  Every time I try to use adverbs, I sound like Yeats (or Keats, whoever they were, I don’t know either of those poets and never did read their pusillanimous, cat-turds-in-a-lavender-patch elegies anyway) perched on a rotted crate in a dank tavern reciting the most fetid, repellent, putrefactive, smell-o-vision examples of amateur literary spittle one can find outside of Scarsdale, New York.  Because that’s the kind of place Scarsdale is: adverbs run for City Council in Scarsdale and, amazingly, sometimes win.

Being a bad writer, as you now know having read me up to this point, requires much more (or less) than having limited writing skills.  A crucial part of bad writing is having nothing interesting to say.  Just like at the mall the other day.  There was this guy walking around the mall, dusting benches and things.  I thought he was going to ask me to move, because I was sitting on the wall of some empty kiosk waiting for my spouse to finish her purchase at the Hallmark store.  But the guy just whiffed his duster over the bench next to me and then walked on by.  I didn’t have to move after all, so I just kept waiting.  Eventually my spouse showed up and we left, went home and had lunch.

Bad writing is also full of irrelevant material.  By the way, can you believe that guy in the mall gets a paycheck and he doesn’t have to write anything!  Not a thing!!

Good writers are concise and get to the point, but bad writers such as Yours Truly — and who calls himself that anymore?  Bad writers, that’s who!  Or whom!! — often lapse into run-on sentences, going on and on (and on!!!) about some such banal topic which is only noteworthy because someone noteworthy uttered some utterly forgettable remark about it, the noteworthiness being that the person happened to be an old drinking chum of the late Christopher Hitchens, the erudite, well-befriended and well-saturated author who selected those he fawned over with particular care, treating Salman Rushdie, to cite one example, like Edward Snowden only wished he had been treated, but Snowden had the misfortune to spring his leaks two years after Hitchens died and thus was denied Hitchens’ embrace, assuming that even would have happened or made a difference if it did.  Am I right?

Everyone can tell how much hours good writers spend on there writing, because they’re hardly antsy mistakes in it.  Grammer, spelling, punction, all perfect.  As hard as I try to write without making mistakes, one or two.  Always seem to excape my attention.  I think my main problem is, get a better spell-check software!

They also say that the good writers close with a strong, satisfying ending.

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