I’ve been dreading this moment for some time now, but my day of reckoning has arrived. Our family dog—let’s call her Mighty Dog– decided to take up residence in our house in the woods, and things have gotten a bit tense. She and I were both nervous at first: She, being a small, tender city dog, fretted over country life. Wild animals might chase her, or eat her. I, being a person who values peace and quiet, knew after she kicked over her water bowl that my quiet time had just become an extinct species.
The first night went great. She barked all night, and we didn’t sleep, and we looked like zombies in the morning. The second night was better. She wanted to sleep in the spacious guest bedroom—not in that dumb dog cage! Okay, I get it. She didn’t bark and was quiet all night. But then, the problem with her feet. She couldn’t walk without slipping and scraping her way across our tiled floor– not a pretty picture.
So, we bought rugs. Not one, or two, or three, but four rugs. Now she could walk without slipping. But the rugs kept moving. So, we bought some sticky foam and put it under the rugs, and that helped. And, of course, the gate to keep her in the guest room at night, so she wouldn’t wander elsewhere. And, did I forget the longer leash and new harness for safe travel in the woods? And the treats my wife bought to put a smile on her face, and the extra toys to chew . . .
Mighty Dog was living the good life, and I was in the dog house.