Our poor dog (maybe that would make a better, more accurate, pseudonym than Our Best Friend) isn’t getting a much better life on the road than he does at home.
Yesterday he got a 50-minute walk in a beautiful wooded area with trails not five minutes from the Sister-in Law’s house. Then he was stuck at home the rest of the day, other than a 2o-minute walk at 9:45.
Today we are going out for most of the day, and I got up extra-early so Our Best Friend could have another great walk before being abandoned. Except I woke to pouring rain.
That is not good. Our Best Friend goes stir-crazy locked up all day, without enough exercise to let out his abundant energy. Then again, he hates the wet. Passionately.
And The Spouse’s mother can’t take him out, as she’s in the midst of a very painful bout of sciatica. He can’t be let out on the deck, either. The other day a health-care worker stopped by to see the MiL; as the nurse had expressed a fear of dogs, the MiL obligingly put him out on the back porch. In his desperation to get back inside where people were, he destroyed the sliding screen door and gouged out a significant amount of wood from the other door. The Spouse was beside himself when we discovered the damage. I was just nauseous.
So I braved the elements and went for a wet walk. We left him food and water and the MiL for human companionship. I couldn’t leave treats because he’s gained a significant amount of weight, and is on a diet. While I’ve enjoyed keeping up with our daily walks, and I’m happy he’s not with a sitter, I don’t think Our Best Friend has benefited much from this vacation.