We leave for Spain tomorrow. That means that, tonight, we have to pack our suitcases. I hate to pack so it's not a fun night for me. The boys also hate to pack so they're not having any fun either. I don't think Kim minds packing her own suitcase. However, I always manage to suck her into helping me pack so the whole thing can't be much fun for her either.
No matter how much we all hate to pack, none of us have it as bad as poor old Wally and Ginger.
Ginger is a strange, strange dog. The poor thing lives in constant fear, flinching at shadows, sudden movements, and any noise at all. Packing brings out the worst in her. As soon as we begin, Ginger goes into a tailspin. She hops up out of her bed, a panicked look in her eyes. She takes a few anxious steps, looking back over her shoulder the whole time. She knows that those suitcases mean one of two things. She's either headed off to the kennel, where she'll be surrounded by a bunch of strange, constantly barking dogs, or she's going to be left to fend for herself at home, under the (hopefully) watchful eye of a sitter. Either way, she knows it's not going to be pleasant. You can see the understanding of what's about to happen sinking in as you look at her. Finally, she can't take it any more and tears out of the room. She'll hide (probably on the living room couch) until we begin to turn out the lights. Only then will she accept her cruel fate and climb back up the stairs for one last night in her crate before her "vacation" begins.
Wally, on the other hand, sticks with you through all the activity. While you pack, he does his best to look cute, sticking his nose into your pile of clothes, and fixing you with a look that says "So, when do we leave?" As many times as we've left him behind, he seems absolutely convinced that this time it's finally going to be different. "Come on," he seems to be saying. "Just two days ago, I learned how to fetch a ball. Remember how much fun that was? After all that hard work, you're still going to leave me?" Good old Wally. He has such confidence. I guarantee you that, as he lays on his bed, snoring away while I type this, he is certain that he'll be leaving with us tomorrow. Not quite, Wally. He may be cute but he is not the smartest dog in the world.