Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Not a campground dog

I’m not a spontaneous person, but my husband is. I try to remember that a little spontaneity in life can be good and so, when the circumstances arose that allowed us to take a spur of the moment camping trip, I agreed to go, even despite my worries about incomplete packing, etc.
We were going to take the dog. How in the world can you find a dog sitter at a moment’s notice?
But then, the campground sounded like it would be packed and the lady sternly warned us that “barking dogs would not be tolerated” (which turned out to be a total lie; there were plenty of barking dogs) so we decided to see if my mother — also not a spontaneous person — would be available to dog sit. We were both surprised and happy to find out she was, so we left the dog at home.
We missed Sensi terribly. All the other campers brought their dogs. We felt so incomplete without him.
We got home yesterday and after a couple hours with our dog, it struck me that it probably would’ve been a bit selfish to bring Sensi if we had. As he flipped over and carefully arranged the throw pillows on the couch into a comfy little spot and nestled in for a nap, I realized he is not cut out for camping — at least not in cold, rainy weather.
Sensi doesn’t mind sitting or lying on the ground when it’s hot and he’s looking to cool down, but when it’s not hot, you won’t catch his butt near the bare earth. Even if he gets tired of standing, he’ll crouch into a sit position but hover his butt a couple inches above the cool ground.
He doesn’t like rain in the least bit. He’d rather hold his pee for hours on end than allow raindrops to fall on his head.
Sensi is the king of comfort and a glutton for warmth. He hates being cold; he dislikes being dirty; he doesn’t like sitting on dirt or even non-sod grass and he absolutely despises rain.
So it would not have been a good weekend for him — it rained every day except Sunday and was incredibly cold (temps in the 50s all weekend) for Labor Day weekend.
There is no doubt in my mind that while Brent and I sat beside our firepit with layers of clothing to keep us warm and umbrellas over our heads to protect us from the rain, Sensi would’ve begged to go inside the tent — curling up on his bed as close to the portable heater as possible.
“You did this to him,” Brent said to me last night. “You spoiled him rotten and now he’s like a little baby.”
When it comes to comfort, the dog is spoiled. There’s no ifs ands or buts about that.
But I do have one defense.
“He’s a good dog and I’ve never rewarded bad behavior, so I don’t care if he’s a little spoiled. At least he’s a good boy,” I say.
But that’s about all I can say, because he is one heck of a spoiled dog.

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