This week I was
allowed to do something with my parents that not even the esteemed Foley
Monster was allowed to do: Accompany my parents when they ran their
There were two reasons I was so honored. The first is that I am perfect in the crate; my Florida mom did a great job crate training me. The little plastic box is my haven where nothing can get me.
The second is that there was a bit of unrest in our peaceful neighborhood the night before. My worried parents, citing an overabundance of caution, which rarely works in our favor, decided they didn't want to leave me alone if the unrest was rekindled.
My predecessors all had different ways of dealing with being alone. River had terrible separation anxiety and a Houdini-like ability to escape confinement even in a locked crate. Given her freedom, she went from window to window looking for her parents equal times howling and panting. She also leaped from one piece of furniture to another, scattering what was on them. If the bathroom door were left open, she would jump on the toilet to the vanity where, because of her fear of heights, she stayed until rescued by her returning parents,
Pocket was a crate dog but was no less anxious confined than free, it was not odd to find wee-wee and boom boom in her crate, causing her to be bathed and her crate to be power washed. Foley called such behavior unprofessional; atill in the crate was better than out for Pocket. Who knows what havoc she would cause, unconfined? River was a born Yorkie hunter, always fighting the instinct to kill her sister. If Pocket was uncrated, she was open to attack by separation anxiety stricken River.
Foley wasn't a bad traveler, but she was just as happy curling up on a blanket in the bedroom and enjoying me time. Blake, my parent's dog BDS (before Doggyspace), was another excellent crate dog, so she was allowed to go with them too. I learned when in doubt, look to the Shih Tzu.
I was put in my rickety crate, so called because I removed and chewed on the brackets and brought them to the car. I was placed in the backseat with the front of the cage in between the seats. I was very excited to learn the decade-old mystery of what my parents did when they were away.
Within a half hour, I realized they were just as dull inside the house as out. They would go to a store; one would get out, the other would stay with me, and then at the next place, they would reverse it. They said how thrilled they were that I was so good in my crate, but truthfully they were so dreadfully dull I fell asleep.
The only exciting pad was when they bought smelly food, which they shared with me when we finally got home.
If only my predecessors knew how boring these trips were, they wouldn't have gotten so worked up.
It is good my parents are dreadfully dull because I am Mucho dynamic, and we balance one another out together.