Last Turkey in The Shop

Last Turkey in The Shop

Sometimes I think the mutt doesn’t like Doggy Daycare.  In fact, I might actually have heard her refer to it as ‘The Gulag’ and not in a post-modern ironic kind of way.

I can usually tell.  The signs are obvious.  I arrive, ring the buzzer and announce myself to Cheryl.  The mutt appears, gives me the miniature schnauzer eyebrows and heads straight for the exit.  No leaping, barking, yowling or roo-roo-rooing.

Mutt:  Let’s go
Me: ?
Mutt:  Let’s go

I bid farewell and we hasten ourselves outside.  Untangle ourselves from leads and owners and post-work conversations about jumping up and being exhausted and poo and the pointlessness of existence and make a bee-line for the car.

Me:  What’s up?
Mutt:  Nothing.  Let’s go

I open the boot of the Touran – where her dogtainer is kept – and up she leaps.  Completely unbidden.  Without human leverage or assistance.  Dives inside and curls herself into the smallest ball possible considering her tubby bulk.  Gives out an annoyed snort.

Mutt:  Shut the boot and let’s go

Clunk.  Silence.  Now this is bad enough at the best of times.  But it’s even worse if she’s the last dog to be collected, the last turkey in the shop.  If you’re a working parent with kids at nursery you’ll understand this.  The petted lip and the huffing.   Being made to feel like Ephialtes of Trachis, Alfred Redl and Nick Clegg rolled into one.  And all despite the fact that daycare costs a fortune.  Even for dogs.

Well, I actually managed to surpass this yesterday by forgetting about the hound altogether.  Not leaving her till last but leaving her completely.  Oh yes.  Left her in daycare.  Completely forgot that I had to pick her up.  Drove home without her.  Well not home exactly.  I had endured my usual shift mining Dilithium on Rura Penthe and had stopped off at Dobbies Garden Centre to pick up some pigs ears as a treat.  While I was standing there agonising over the sweep of available canine snacks I was gradually overcome by the chill that you usually get when you’ve left the house without putting on your trousers.

Uh-oh.  The dog.

I grabbed a pack of small, crocodile-shaped chewy things and headed daycareward.

Hours later, not a single word had passed canine lips.

Me:  Oh come on
Me:  Look, I’m sorry.  I just forgot.  I got caught up in other things and completely forgot.  It’s an easy thing to do
Me:  Come on
Me:  But you love daycare.  Think of it as extra time spent with Cheryl
Me:  I’ve got something for you
Me:  A treat
Me:  The rain falls down, I’m soaking through…
Mutt: ?
Me:  I’m an old man inside a young man’s suit…
Mutt: ?
Me:  My crocodile chews are crying too, for they know how much love I have for you…
Me:  Crocodile Chews…Crocodile Chew-ews…
Mutt:  Uunnhhh.
Me:  Well?
Mutt: These had better be good

They were.

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