While we were in major renovation mode and John had non-stop soccer games and practices, Mya stayed with John’s parents in North Carolina. It was summer camp with grandma & grandpa!
This weekend John had to take a short soccer trip, so Mya stayed here. I’m not used to having to entertain on this scale. She is more human than any dog I’ve ever met – she doesn’t like it when you raise your voice and she loves to play rough and tackle… constantly. And when you talk to her it’s as if she’s genuinely trying to comprehend what you’re saying.
Mya and Seven don’t exactly… play well together. Actually, Mya loves to play with Seven, he just doesn’t love to play back.
I followed John’s directions precisely. I fed her. I played with her. I walked her. When I left for a few hours Saturday night I let her hang out in John’s room instead of forcing her into the crate, which is usually fine. Not this time.
After arriving home I immediately went upstairs to let her out. I didn’t look around the room, I just opened the door and she followed me downstairs. We walked outside and it was clear she needed to “go,” but for some reason she was extremely uncomfortable. I was patient in the 22-degree weather. I sat next to her and patted her back, showed her I wasn’t in a hurry. Still nothing. Finally I called John, who insisted that this had never happened before.
I got the bright idea to run around the block in my 3-inch heels (no time to change), hoping that might ease her situation. Nope. In the meantime Jeremy went upstairs to check if there was something she may have eaten. Uhhh, ya think?