I just picked Malcolm up from the kennel, where he boarded for the last 48 hours. They like him there; the guy behind the counter said “Shepherd/Akita mix?” And I corrected Akita to St. Bernard, and he nodded sagely. “I can see that. He’s a good boy.” He also got his nails clipped. Counter guy said, “He kept offering me his paws, right up until I did his nails. Then he stopped letting me touch them, just sat down instead.” Yep. That’s our Gandhi.
But when I picked him up, he was totally not interested in me. He was smelling everything, then trying to figure out how to sit in the front seat of the car, then looking out the window as we drove home…
And then we got home. And he exploded into dog joy. THIS IS MY DRIVEWAY. THAT IS MY YARD. I PEE RIGHT HERE. Nearly pulled me off my feet, frankly. So happy. Bouncy, let’s play with my leash I wanna run I’m HOME happy.
Except… Justin’s not home yet. And Mal can’t settle. He’s had water, he’s had food, he’s peed, he has his skunk, he’s annoyed both cats, but he’s pacing the house, whining periodically, looking and looking and looking… no Justin. How do you tell a dog “just wait an hour, he’s right behind me”? You don’t. You just pat him and tell him reassuring things in a reassuring tone and look relaxed and hope the message gets through.
But he knows. This pack isn’t complete without Justin.