So, we are into week 2 of our current dog sitting adventure. Let me tell you, it's a treat. A real doggy, tail wagging treat.
I knew I had married the right man when poor old John sacrificed his sanity, all for the sake of putting up with the likes of me - a animal loving fool. On the mornings I am not getting up at 0330 to go and bake, John gets up, showers, then creeps back into the bedroom, and gets our latest family member, Lady Bird, the min-pin from underneath the covers, and carries this little 10lb chortling blind dog, outside to do her business. The other charges, Buster, the Yorkshire, who has an affinity for White Russians, and Charlie, the white ShiTzu boy who is only 1.5 years old, follow John in their commanding dog way. Casey, our 9 year old bull mastiff/rat terrier mix, who is indeed, daddy's little girl follows behind the pack, just to make sure everyone makes it outside.
Upon returning inside, all the doggies line up and stare at the bag of Pupperoni dog treats. John has spoiled these dogs beyond belief. Some people find John to be gruff, or even a bit moody, but I am a firm believer that animals are better judges of a person's character, thus seeing the animals react towards John, I know I got the best of the lot.
Poor hubby is really a good man. Who else would not even raise his voice to his wife calling and proclaiming, "I got another dog"... (John, if you are reading this - just know you are my number one) and then pretend very convincingly that he is elated by the prospect of yet another four legged creature to occupy bed space. Add to poor John's indignity, a few years ago I had adopted a special needs, neurological mess of a cat, Mickey Finn, while John was one one of his Costa Rican "guy trips". I did ask prior to the adoption, and my loving spouse said..."If it makes you happy". I guess I should have asked him if it made HIM happy. However, the brain warped cat of a clown (reversal intended) has provided hours of non stop entertainment for us.
Our pet sitting vacation is winding up, and soon Buster & Charlie's parents will return from Costa Rica. The McArthur clan will head back to our own house, 2 dogs and cat in tow, and resume our normal activities. People with half a brain venture to far off, sunny, beach shored destinations, but John and I seem to be the crazy fools who deem 2 weeks with 4 dogs to be better than any 5 star hotel/beach/motorcycle escapade. What's wrong with us?