We could kennel Darby if we had to, but everything we know about his constitution says that would not be a good experience for him, plus we'd still have to hire someone to care for the cats. They cannot be boarded because I refuse to vaccinate their aging selves, firmly believing that they have all of the immunity they need from previous vaccinations. Until I find someone who can be a good live-in for us, our travel schedule is mainly limited to going north to see my parents, which we did this weekend.
The Doodlebug is always welcome at "grandma and grandpa's house". His bone-shaped puppy bag causes whines of delight when he sees it being pulled from the closet, because he knows an adventure is coming. Once he's packed, we leash him up and hit the road.
|"Finish getting the gas, Dad, so we can GO!"|
Going somewhere with Darby almost guarantees fun. His excitement manifests itself in small whines of delight, while sneaking up behind us for quick kisses of appreciation. The Doodle is not a terribly "kissy" dog, saving his unbridled love for moments like these.
We stop at the exact same Starbucks every time we go, it being conveniently located at the halfway point and possessing a nice outdoor seating area where we can hang with Doodlebug while swilling some caffeine. He's come to know this break in the schedule and now acts like the patio dignitary, checking out fellow highway travelers who might drop something edible while passing by.
At my parent's house, he makes himself completely at home, cruising the yard from end-to-end before settling in for some treats and conversation. Seeing him so calm and well-mannered, so pleased to be in the middle of the conversation pit on the patio, makes my heart happy.
All too soon it's time to make the trip home again. The cats are surely plotting our demise for having them indoors and servant-less for so long, and the trip home will take the same three hours as did the venture north. Doodle, knowing this leg of the journey well and tired from all of the fun of the day, settles into the backseat quickly, quiet other than the occasional snort of discontent from a bump in the road jostling his rest.
Darby, like the day itself, was picture-perfect.