Shoes, Ships, and Sealing Wax

v-a-c-a-t-i-o-n

My vacation began about two hours ago, although we aren't leaving for the beach until tomorrow. The only thing that leaves me not 100% thrilled is having to leave behind the pets, but it is hard to find a rental condo that will allow two dogs, two guinea pigs, and ten rats for a week. (Two dogs includes my parents' lab; it is the big family vacation.)

Several weeks ago my mom and I went to a local kennel to check out the digs for the dogs. The kennel is owned by a former breeder, and it is out in the country, up a winding, wooded road. As we approached it I was thinking "Hell, maybe I'll stay here for the week." Then we got inside. I've never been in a kennel before, except at the animal shelter where I got my beagle...I thought the concrete floor and chain-link doors were because that was a county animal shelter. I didn't realize it was typical kennel accomodations. (I guess if I'd thought about it, I would have...how else to you keep an area with so many dogs clean?) Still, it looks like jail. And my dog isn't a puppy any more...she's used to spending her days holding down the sofa and nights in bed. I couldn't send her to cellblock 9 while I'm enjoying the beach.

So, I sprung for the professional pet sitter. I knew they were perfect for our spoiled brood when the owner told me that she has one client that she walks every day (the dog being the client here), and before she goes to walk him she has to buy his McDonald's hamburger. Has to be McDonald's, no Wendy's, no Burger King. Has to be a plain hamburger, no cheese, no pickles.
The pet sitter said this like it was perfectly normal. I knew then that she wouldn't laugh at us for the Sping Mix greens that the guinea pigs like to eat, or the fleece hammocks in the rat cages.

I'm still gonna worry about them, though. The rats are getting over respiratory infections (tomorrow is the last antibiotic dose) and the dog doesn't eat much when I'm not here.

Except for the crushing guilt of leaving the babies, though, I am So Ready. This time tomorrow I'll be picking up the keys. This time Sunday I'll be floating in an inner tube drinking frozen rum punch. This time Monday I'll be enjoying a massage.

This time next Friday I'll be packing to come home, probably 15 pounds heavier but hopefully a lot less stiff.

This is my dog, holding down the sofa as usual. Maybe if the petsitter gives her hamburgers she'll forgive me for abandoning her.