adventures in puppy sitting

My parents left me all by lonesome this weekend to traipse off to New Orleans to eat at Commanders' Palace and shop in the French Quarter and do other things that all pretty much make you want to stick out your tongue and flip them the bird.

Of course, I wasn't exactly totally by my lonesome, because I had the resident poodle-suit-wearing fuzzball, Sadie, to keep me company. Sadie, who by about 10 a.m. Saturday morning had already had just about enough of this being left shit and walked around the first floor of the house whimpering to no one in particular. Once, she went to the bottom of the stairs and barked, looking at me as if to say, "When they're down here, you're usually up there, sooooooooo don't you think maybe THEY'RE up there now since YOU'RE down here with me? Don't you think? Maybe? PLEASE?" Then once she ran up there just to check and came down a few seconds later, visibly annoyed.

Unfortunately for Sadie this was quite a busy weekend for me, so she got left in her crate for many more hours than she would've preferred. Of course, her preferred amount would've probably been NO hours. Zero hours in the crate, please. I did feel guilty and I wish I could've just left her closed up in the den, but in the time I was gone she probably could've consumed an entire potted plant, roots and all, and I would not want to be a part of the cleaning crew on that disaster.

She behaved miraculously well for me, had no accidents in her crate or in the house and spooned and cuddled with me on demand. And she was only almost crushed under the weight of a falling piece of furniture ONCE. So I think we can consider puppy sitting a victory.

What, the furniture? Oh, it was only a card table, and she kicked it anyway, so it was her fault that it fell on her. Right? I can't be held responsible for the folded-up table that I propped up against the wall that she later kicked that then squished her and caused her to run away whimpering and crying AND, I'm pretty sure, be convinced for about half an hour that I'd done it to her and thus avoid me completely.

Luckily dogs' memories are not elephant-like, and now two days later she is still afraid of the card table, but not me. Although I guess that might have less to do with her memory of the event and more to do with the fact that card table (to date) has yet to feed her.


cheers,
elizabeth