A worried dog
I spent yesterday being a worried dog. No one wants to be left behind. It doesn’t matter how many times Mum says to me, “You’re coming with me, Wilma,” there is always that little niggle – what if I’m not? What if I’m being left with Dad? Ok, don’t get me wrong, I adore Dad. I have a special welcome that is just for him. But, Mum is my person. I am her dog. That’s just how things are and we should never, ever be apart – not even for five minutes. And so, I spent yesterday being a worried dog.
Reading the signs
Yes, I saw Mum getting my things ready too, but she does that when I got to kennels. Of course she kept reassuring me, but she does that when I’m worried. Now I just have to wait until I see which way the car turns when we head out of the drive. Turn north, and I might be right to have been worried. Turn south and I’m fairly safe that I’m going on a road trip.
The best trips
The best trips are when we can all go, but next to that, I like nothing better than me, Mum and the open road. Mum loves it to, except my need to bark when checking in at the Channel Tunnel. She says we could do without that. I just need to tell everyone I’m there – loudly! She should be grateful, it usually means they try to get us out as quickly as possible, which suits us both. Anyway, I saw Mum packing the bribes so of course I’m going to play along. I bark, I get treats. Who wouldn’t bark again? To be fair, Mum does make me do tricks for each treat, which can entertain other people and make up to some extent for the raucous noise.
Love
Wilma
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