A blog for those who remember good customer service, toast racks and typewriters
Thursday, July 31, 2014
Holidays shouldn't be this hard
Good pets. Raised and ruined by good parents. Our plans for a weekend away gets remodeled again when the question arises but what will we do with Max and ... well maybe it's easier if we just don't go this weekend. The trauma of snatching the blissfully sleeping Ragdoll from his designer blanket and unceremoniously pushing him head first into something with not much more design than a sealed milk crate ends in cries of protest that are distressing for all concerned. Number One Son in false hope that he's off to school or a fishing trip has a face like thunder when we turn off into the driveway of the pet minding facility. Max giving out feral cries from the back seat of the car is equally unimpressed with the prospect of days of solitary confinement in cell block C. Paid playtime and cuddle visits don't impress the privileged and pampered expecting a buffet selection of endangered species in a gravy sauce at meal times. The longing look, those sad eyes saying please don't leave me here, they don't even smell very good makes it so much harder to turn, run and jump into the car, start the engine and yell "yippee, we're away..", but we do. And then on the return it's the wailing again from the milk crate, the whimpering from the rear and the two tired from traveling adults need to face the music for being so unspeakably cruel in handing over more cash than the cost of our holiday to have them kept fed and safe. Max won't speak to us for days and storms around with a 'talk to the tail as the face ain't listening' stance and Number One Son tries to convince us to bust out his new friends from the facility. Yes, it's a big weekend but sometimes it's nicer to just stay at home.