I made a trip to Boston this past weekend for my brother’s commencement, which means leaving my lovely rottweiler in the care of the veterinarian’s office. It doesn’t always hit you what you’re really like until someone else takes care of something you find so precious.
(Yes, I’m one of those people who worship their dog. She has her very own facebook page. Feel free to friend her. And this is not to be confused with my dog being spoiled or pampered–she’s a good dog and fairly well trained. Although, I will admit that she doesn’t listen quite as well when there are other dogs around….aaand this is getting way off topic.)
Anyway, on returning to Columbus and picking up Daisy, there were two things askew.
1. She had a scarf on. Well, it more like a handkerchief thing, but it was pink and flowery and ridiculous. No rottweiler of mine will be cast down with the lowly chihuahuas that wear sweaters and faux diamond collars. Daisy is a big, slobbery, sometimes smelly dog, and I like her that way. Even the smelly part.
2. They graded her. My DOG got a Report Card! It included things like “your dog enjoyed . . . being pet, playing outside,” but apparently my dog did not enjoy “receiving treats.” Now, I find that highly suspicious. My dog didn’t like getting treats? Daisy? Who drools so much I think she should wear one of those bibs from Red Lobster when she sees that little bone shaped biscuit?
Also, apparently my dog “had a good bath.” Well, I know that she hates getting baths–I mean, she’ll stand there and take it, because she knows that it’s going to happen whether she likes it or not, but it’s not an especially joyful thing for her. So, what constitutes a “good bath.” I’m sure it was good for the groomer, but I’m fairly sure Daisy would’ve taken exception to it. Especially if they used a dryer. My dog runs away from the vacuum cleaner, so a dryer tends to be out of the question–we towel dry and she seems to like it, because it means I’m sitting there for a good hour petting her, which the vet and I agree she quite enjoys.
Anyway, the point in all this is that I find it hard to believe that they could think for an instant that I would leave a well adjusted, happy dog in their care and that they might know my dog better than I do. And then on the other hand, I realize that it says far too much about my own personality. I don’t do the cutesy thing when it comes to animals–babies, yes; dogs, no. I don’t want to see bubbly letters by “Mandy” (please giggle in a high-pitched voice when you read that) about how well behaved my dog is. Well, uh, duh, I wouldn’t allow an ill-behaved dog in my house.
So, I suppose that says something about me, doesn’t it? That my tolerance for what I would consider misbehavior is fairly low, but what constitutes “misbehavior?” That’s probably getting way too much in social set ups and how we treat each other, etc etc, but perhaps I’m just reinforcing what I’ve been taught in this particular social structure. I won’t allow my own pet to act in a particular manner that I was never allowed to act in. So, I’m just continuing this cycle.
Still, though, when she was home, I kept eyeing that handkerchief and preparing to take that ridiculous thing off; however, Daisy didn’t seem to mind and, well, it made a good bib when she ate her treat.