We weren't the only ones to go on vacation last weekend. Normally, Roly and Doxie would sleep over with their little friend Rosie, but since she came down with canine myasthenia gravis, she just doesn't have the long-term stamina she used to. (Don't feel dumb. I didn't know what HUMAN myasthenia gravis was, let alone that dogs got it. The good news is that it can be controlled with inexpensive medication.) So, we had a few tense, embarrassed moments in which I asked Gilda if the girls could stay with them; she hemmed and hawed, clearly uncomfortable with saying yes; and I just decided to hunt for a boarding kennel, claiming that it would be a good thing for them, even though I felt awful about it.
My first attempt was a local place called Camp Bow Wow, which features separate "cabins" for your "little campers"; a "fireside treat" every night (hopefully not a wiener roast, thinks I); and Camper Cams and an app that allow you to spy on your camper while you're supposed to be off enjoying your vacation. All that cutesiness, combined with the three-hour interview, the twelve-page application form, and the requirement that your little camper get along swimmingly with all other dogs and people, put me off just a bit.
The largest, most glaringly Old Florida of the local pet boarding ads in the Yellow Pages was for Adorable Dogs Pet Motel, which has been in business for over 30 years, has owners living on site, and promises to keep your pet safe, clean, and happy. I insisted that we go and inspect the joint before committing to it. Bill's stance was "They're just dogs. They'll be fine."
We drove down a local country road and came upon this pink edifice with poodle statuary out front at its big, pink, concrete entrance gates, and a big red heart that read "Adorable Dogs." I don't see our girls as little divas, but really, whose heart wouldn't melt over this Disney World for Dogs?
The lady who greeted us won me over when she said that she had dachshunds at home. Even better, they wouldn't have to even try to get along with anyone else, because they'd have a private kennel, a private run, and a grassy area for limited play with other dogs. That sounded about right to me.
When the day came to drop them off, Bill had our friend Paula and I bring them in, because, even though they're just dogs, he couldn't bear to. And, when time came to pick them up again, he did the honors and became their instant hero.
They came home freshly bathed, manicured, and better housebroken than when they left, with only a case of the sniffles.