There are days I'm just the teeniest bit glad my dearly departed father is not with us, so I don't have to see his scowl when he finds out what I spend my money on.
For example, I don't know if I could put my dog in what appears to be the Taj Mahal of sleeping quarters if I had to tell him what it will cost.
The last few times we've had no one to dog/house sit while we were away, our dear darling bedhog of a pooch stayed at our vet clinic. It's a perfectly reasonable place and we know for sure she's being fed and watered and walked; she's just miserable. It seems she misses us so much and is so unused to being in a crate for long periods, she comes home exhausted and with bruising around her mouth from chewing on the bars.
So, we're trying something new, and something Dad would not approve of, not in a million years.
We're spending what seems to me to be a lot of money on very fancy digs the next time we're away overnight. No crate, no bars; it has ceramic tile walls and a glass door, like a shower door, instead. I got a tour of the facility, which even comes with a TV (sadly, a nicer one than we watch at home, tuned to Animal Planet, natch) and it's airy, clean and much bigger than any crate I've seen. It won't be as good as bedding down with mummy and daddy, but here's hoping she comes home happy, with no scars.
Sorry, Dad. I know she's 'just a dog'. But she's MY dog and if I can't take her with me, I want her safe and happy.
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