“You’re Going To School This Week.”

George is two and a half now. And she is sweet and loyal pup.

And she is fierce about protecting me.

Other animals are not allowed to request attention from me. Like most in her species, she does not trust anyone who rings a doorbell. Or anyone who walks past or stops their vehicle in front of the house.

(Though, I’ve tried explaining to her that the stop sign in front of our corner lot house means people HAVE to stop. She refuses to accept this and insists they should run the sign.)

If it’s just her amongst a group of humans, she thrives. She is living her best life. Getting all of the attention. Knowing how to work the room.

“She’s so soft!”

“George, you are a very sweet dog.”

“Ohmigoodness! You are a fast zoomer!”

“George, why do you lift your foot up a little when you pee? You’re a girl dog.”

After having her almost a year, in the Spring of 2021, I decided to seek out doggy daycare options. Not because I work outside of the home (I am 100% remote), but because she should socialize more with dogs.

Be comfortable and helpful in a pack.

She and I are a pack. The best pack that will ever exist in the whole universe.

I just think she would benefit from making some friends. It will boost her self-esteem.

The biggest boost she gets these days is from the coffee shop when they give her serving of whipped cream as big as her face. She doesn’t care that afterwards, bits of white fluff are stuck at the end of her whiskers… And she hardly looks intimidating as she growls at anything that crosses her line of sight.

“You are going to school this week. And it’s going to be so much fun. You’re going to run and play with other dogs. You’ll get to take naps. You’ll get outside time. It will be the best!”

I had just fed her one of her special cups as I told her this. She sighs. And turns her attention to whatever is outside of the window, beyond me. A low growl comes out as the gas pump I had been running popped done. She quietly sits back down in her seat in the car. Stares quietly at me as I get into my seat in front of her.

She remains quiet the whole two hour ride home. She’s nervous about school.

Or plotting my demise.