The dog hates this.
This morning, the dog and I left his real house in the car! And we were excited! Because we were going for a ride! In the car!
But when we pulled in to Jake’s Garage of Abandonment, the dog suddenly remembered: Garage of Abandonment = Endlessly Excruciating Days With The Stranger.
So before we even got out of the car this morning, the whimpering commenced. And the listlessness. And the sulking.
Thankfully, the dog’s drama-queen histrionics never involve things like biting and growling and indoor pooping. At least so far.
But there are endless hours of long, sullen stares. And conspicuous snubbing where the dog will acknowledge me with his eyes but will not exert the energy necessary to lift his head to look at me. And let’s not forget the pathetic, audible sighs.
Don't get me wrong—I love this dog. (And I'm not even technically a dog person.) He's well-behaved, extremely friendly, accident-free and able to make me laugh just by doing his everyday dog things in his cute little dog way.
But caring for this dog alone is not unlike talking to a social climber in a crowded bar: He’s constantly surveying the landscape beyond you, and every noise, every door and every opportunity to go outside to pee is a potential sign that this cruel incarceration in Loserville is almost over. (Oh, if ONLY we required that shameless social climbers had to go outside to pee…)
But the joke’s on you, my canine friend! Aside from two visits with your dog walker, I’m your only source of lovin’ until Saturday night. You can enjoy the same lovin’ you get at home (only with more room on the bed!) or you can choose to sulk in the corner by the bookshelf.
And—despite all your audible sighs and your moping and your refusal to wag your tail unless I have a treat in my hand—I’m still gonna love you and I’m still gonna invite you up on the couch with me and I’m still gonna make room for you on the bed.
And I’m still gonna pick up your damn poop.