Sunday, July 31, 2011

Wishing I Could Talk To The Dog

I can, of course. I do all the time.

"There's a good boy."

"Want a treat?"

"Leave the cat alone!"

"Saba, go to your mat!"

I say all those things daily, but I mean really talk to the dog. I mean explain to him in-depth why most of his pack has abandoned him. Why it's only him and I in a house that's a little bit more packed away and empty every day. I wish I could've explained to him why I left him with some guy he didn't know for three weeks. I'm back now, but we're hardly a pack of two.

Alas, I can't, so we get a lot of this...


We have a little over two more weeks of this. And then?

And then I'll be wishing I could explain to him why I'm putting his crate in a van and driving to Boston, why I'm putting him on a plane and flying him across the Atlantic, and then why we'll be spending another day driving from London dead North until we hit the heart of Scotland. I wish I could explain to him that once all that's done his pack will be there to greet him. They'll shower him with love. There will be that boy that plays Saba-stick with him. And that girl that cuddles him. And the alpha-mom, she'll be there too. They'll be a lovely enclosed lawn and garden to dash about in, and lots of cows nearby to eyeball. I wish he knew that he'll soon be taking epic walks through Scottish moorland, up mountains and through hills swarming with rabbits.

Alas, I can't.

It's funny being a dog owner. It doesn't at all occur to me that I should be saying all the same things to the cat. The cat's fine. The dog, however...

Well, we'll take walks. He'll get extra treats. And all will eventually be well.

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