Leaving the Dog


(Photo by Mist and Moonlight Photography)

Norman was my first baby. I have had him for six years, which, if you’re doing the math is six times as long as I have known my daughter and three times as long as I have been married to my husband.

Usually my parents who live an hour away dog sit, but recently when we went away for the weekend, a local friend offered to let Norm out a few times which was incredibly convenient but resulted in the following texts in the days prior to our departure:

Me: “Is Rick sure he doesn’t mind letting Norman out at least once every 12 hours, preferably more?”

My Husband: “He’s sure.”

Me: “It might be too big of a pain. What if there is a thunderstorm and Norman gets scared?”

My Husband: “I will text Rick and tell him he has to go over to the house and snuggle Norman.”

Me: “Maybe I better just stay home, I’m worried about Norman.”

My Husband: “Babe, he will be fine.”

Me: “Can we leave the TV on all weekend to keep Norman company?”

My Husband: “Yes, Babe.”

So, alas, I kissed Norm good-bye and, making sure I was wearing my “I Love My Dog” bracelet, got in the car for our road trip. He was fine.

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