Dog Sitting

A weekend at home. A four-legs furry grandniece.

ME: Well, look who decided to get up!

DEB: (next room) What?

ME: Sorry honey, talking to Maggie! She woke up and realized we’d left her in the living room.

We hosted our furry grand-niece this weekend. It went well. Basically.

The first night, Maggie decided she would sleep downstairs (cooler?) and we offered our bedroom, but didn’t push it. Then around oh-dark-thirty somebody woke up, found there was NOBODY THERE, and worse, MOM AND DAD WERE GONE, so we found ourselves with a four-leg visitor who wanted loving and reassurance and cuddles and scritches. But she couldn’t settle, probably because our waterbed felt weird¹, so there was a certain amount of in & out through the night.

The couch. Always a good place for being with people. People are good. Everyone should have a people or two. These people are mine, get your own.

Out for a walk really means checking out the neighborhood, of course. Social media is a different thing for the canine set.

“You have… five… new pee-mails.”

Somebody is smart enough to know that people getting dressed and brushing teeth means imminent abandonment.

You are leaving me. You are leaving me and never coming back. Ever. I will die alone and abandoned.

Second night. Somebody decided to start out with us in bed.

“Maggie? Honey? Can Uncle Jack have maybe a little bit of his side of the bed? PLEEEEASE?”

We liked having our furry grandniece for the weekend. We’ll have her back any time.

¹Yes, we have a waterbed; yes, we know the 80s are over — shut up.