I love camping. I loathe camping with my dogs! We really didn't have the money to board our dogs this weekend, so we took them with us. All.Three.Of.Them. They are all three dachshunds of various ages: puppy, middle age, and knocking on death's door.
My dogs are townies. Not only that, they are indoor dogs. Camping was a whole new experience, one I will never, ever repeat if I have anything to do with it! They immediately began barking as soon as we let them out of the truck. They continued to bark pretty much the entire time until we loaded them up to come home. Gah.
Our middle age dog is neurotic. She has to be right by me at all times. If we leave her too long, she gets diarrhea, which turns bloody if we are gone beyond the limit of what she can handle. Apparently the combination of being left in the camper while we went swimming and then eating the fat off of a brisket my BIL was smoking was just too much for her system. At least she waited until she was outside--at first. The Hubster got up and took all of the dogs out during the night. He woke me up early the next morning to have my turn at it. I, being the chipper morning person I am, convinced the dogs to snuggle back down for a little more sleep. That worked for a little while until the frantic tone in their wimpers and barks let me know they'd had enough. Before I could get up out of bed and let them out, Neurotic Dog (Her real name is Molly--we try not to label her for fear that it will be a self-fulfilling prophecy. *snort*) had made a mess. On the blanket that somehow ended up in the floor.
The next night I suggested we take the two problem dogs for a walk before bed in the hopes that we could avoid outdoor trips in the middle of the night. Molly did fine, but the puppy was all over the place, checking everything out but never going to the bathroom. We finally gave up and headed to bed. As soon as I got in bed and slid my feet down under the covers, I discovered why she had never gone to the bathroom--I had a nice wet spot on my side of the bed. @*#(!
Needless to say, our camper was beginning to smell. The mixture of puppy accidents, rotten teeth and old age made it smell like a doggie nursing home. I was seriously considering making each and every one of them outdoor dogs by the time we returned home.
The third night The Hubster woke me up and informed me that I had first shift on taking the dogs out. Hoping to avoid a repeat accident, I was scrambing to get them outside. Of course I couldn't find any of my clothes, so I was racing around in the dark bumping into things and trying to convince the dogs to wait just a few more seconds before they let loose. I finally found my shirt and decided to call it good. After all, it was the middle of the night and everyone else would be asleep. The door just about flew off its hinges from the force of the dogs bursting through it. I hadn't even taken the time to put their leashes on because I was so afraid that the extra few seconds would be their undoing. The oldest one can't move fast enough to get away from me, and the middle one is the one that I have to physically scrape off of my person, so I wasn't worried about them. The puppy, though, took off barking her fool head off at the three people walking by to the bathroom. So there I was standing in a T-shirt and pair of panties, illuminated by the rope lights The Hubster left on the ground to give us a little bit of light, hissing at the dog to come back and shut up. It didn't help that I was calling her the wrong name. And I'm sure the people passing by loved the view of my barely-clad backside as I stooped to put the leash on the puppy!
As soon as I woke up this morning, I began packing so we could get the heck out of Dodge. I couldn't wait to return my dogs to their natural habitat. I'm sure the people camping around us had a little party once we left.
Sooooo...anybody want a dog? Or three? They're free! Shoot, I'll pay you to take them.
2:09 PM ~