Doggie Daycare

                Grace has never liked when I left for work. She disappeared when the time came for her to get in her crate, and I’d find her curled up on her bed in my room. She pretended to be asleep, her eyelids drooping. She wanted me to think that she’d be good and she’d sleep on her bed all day.

                But I know better than to trust my dog. She’s got a lot of puppy left brewing inside her, and she can’t help herself sometimes. If I left her home alone and out of her crate one day, I’d come home to a layer of stuffing-snow on the carpet and shredded cloth everywhere.

                Eventually she’ll be mature enough to wander the house while I’m out. Eventually being the keyword there.

                My new, albeit temporary, job means I’m out of the house forty hours a week. Eight hours a day could be considered a long time for Grace to be cooped up inside her crate. Mom thinks that at least, and she suggested we increase the days she goes to doggie daycare during the week.

                So Grace heads off to East Bridgewater twice a week instead of once.

                Grace approaches doggie daycare the same way she approaches her crate at bedtime: pulling, whining, and insisting until she gets exactly what she wants. The moment the car turns down the long, single lane driveway with trees encroaching on both sides, Grace starts bouncing in the back of the car. She pings off the sides of the car and whines like a mad woman.   

                She would leap from the back of the car the moment I opened the hatch, leaving me to scramble for the pink leash trailing behind her. I didn’t much like that, and we’ve come to an agreement that she’s not to hop off the tailgate until I tell her she can.

                Because of my schedule, Dad drops her off in the mornings and Mom picks her up. In the ten hours between, Grace plays and runs and wrestles with the other dogs. She wears herself out; back at home, she settles herself into her bed and only wakes up long enough for a bathroom run before bedtime.

                I love my sleepy puppy. I love how she smells of the indoor room at daycare: the smell of disinfectant mixed with a faint stale scent. I love how she looks at me from behind her half-closed while curled in her bed. I love the sound of her snoring from across the room.

                This full time job in Plymouth probably won’t last much longer, and I occasionally need to keep whispering Ohio to myself as a reminder of long term goals just to get through the day. I may not be enjoying the uncertainty of a temporary job or of exactly what will happen in the coming months. But coming home to a sleepy puppy and knowing that she had the time of her life today makes my day a little bit better.