This is Kizzy. We are the same age (according to this dog age calculator anyway). Which means that we should be in the same place in life. But we’re not. And it’s just not fair.
Don’t get me wrong, some parts of our lives are exactly the same. We both have friends that we love to hang out with. We both have to contribute around the house. I clean it up, and Kizzy makes it messy again (and smelly, if you know what I mean ). And we both have to work.
Kizzy has to go to work two days a week. And by work, I mean doggie day care at Pooch Hotel. She rides the short bus every morning and afternoon (yes, I know, they pick-up my dog in the morning and drop her back off in the afternoon).
My favorite part of this picture is the pug sitting in the driver’s seat. He is quite obviously the co-pilot. “Ok, we have Kizzy, next let’s go pick up Daisy, then Jack. And hurry up! We are starting to run behind! The boss is going to be angry if we are late.”
She spends all day socializing with her friends. We’ve even heard rumors of a boyfriend or two …
And because I don’t want Kizzy to go through withdrawal on non-daycare days, we have a brilliant dog walked who takes her out for a mid-day walk come rain or shine. She leaves us a detailed note about her day and she never fails to include a note about Kizzy’s bowel movements.
We started the dog walking thing with Lucky Puppy, LLC as an alternative to daycare. We thought Kizzy might be picking up various germs from overly friendly dogs and bringing them home with her. She grew out of it, and she returned to daycare. But the dogwalker remained because I didn’t have the heart to cut her off from her two-legged friend!
Yep. Real grass. Delivered every two weeks by the brilliant guys at Pet Patio Pickup (who I love even if they are rough on my walls when they make deliveries).
Her very own slice of heavenly suburbeness. To use as she desires. Except when it rains. She hates soggy grass.
She rings the bell to go out, we let her out, she investigates the area and puts a tentative paw on the grass. But quickly pulls it back like it bit her if it’s the slightest bit wet. Then she looks at us with the biggest, saddest brown eyes. And we cave and take her for a walk. (It’s a racket I tell you!)
By the time the weekend rolls around, all Kizzy wants to do is lay on our laps. But I can’t, because I have to go out with friends so that I can feel like some part of my life (no matter how small) is better than my dog’s