By the time you read this, I’ll be on an airplane heading to New York City – the Big Apple, home of Broadway, Central Park and the über riche shopping on Fifth Avenue.
While I’m very excited to be going – I get to sing at Carnegie Hall with approximately 200 other choir geeks – I’m also somewhat apprehensive. I’m leaving my two precious fur babies at home alone with their father for the first time. For a week.
It’s not that I don’t have faith my husband will take good care of my two favourite four-legged creatures – though this is the man who managed not to notice when Stuart got out of our own backyard and went walkabout in the neighbourhood before being found by two very nice City Parks Department employees. That was an interesting phone call: “Honey, are you missing something?”
He just won’t take care of them in the same way I take care of them.
Case in point: last week he told me Stuart likes olives while Miss Deen does not. My question to him was, “Why are you feeding the dogs olives?” I’m pretty sure olives are not on the list of appropriate food for dogs.
Will he let them out enough? Will he play with them? Will he remember they’re there when he’s glued to his iPhone surfing the net about his greatest love, British motorcycles? Will he make them come inside if they start to bark so as not to annoy our neighbours?
Don’t get me wrong, I’m certain they’ll have great fun – there is talk of them all hanging out in their underwear watching the NFL playoffs all weekend while eating chips and dip. And rumours are spreading to two very excited little Westies that they’ll get to sleep on the bed, instead of in their crates.
But will there be enough cuddles and belly rubs? I have my doubts. I really am going to try to fight the urge to call and check up. But maybe he could send me daily photos? That wouldn’t be weird, would it?
Usually when all four of us are home at the same time and watching television, my husband can be found on one sofa by himself while I will be curled up on another with my two little sweeties. They obviously love me best.
They aren’t saints, though. They are terriers and demand attention. Usually I’m there to give that to them in abundance.
It’s going to be difficult to be away from them, and I’m really not sure who will be happier to see me when I get home – the husband or the dogs. It’s going to be a long week.
