Bad Dogs!

The Wolf Pack, now duo now since the Malamute died, scared the hell out of me this morning. It seemed warm enough to leave them in the unheated garage overnight rather than the basement. Overnights in the basement are reserved for temperatures approaching 10 degree and below. The dogs are happier in the seemingly drafty and unfriendly garage than cooped up in the comfy room in the basement, perhaps because they can hear the comings and goings on the street. And their marginal level of being house broken makes the garage much easier to maintain.

The two Husky girls are not brave dogs. They won't bark or whine until they know that someone safe has come to the door. After several days of pet sit visits they know the sound of my car as well as my walk up the front steps onto the porch, my fumbling with the key in the cranky front door lock. Like every other day, I started talking to them this morning as I walked by the garage door.

Any other day, the girls would have been whining and talking by the time I made it inside the kitchen and reached for the door to the garage. This morning, I found utter silence all the way in. No whines, no yips, not even the sound of overly long claws scratching on the cement floor. By the time I opened the door into the garage my heart was in my throat, fearing that I would find I had misjudged conditions and I would find two curled up Huskies dead of hypothermia. I was already rehearsing what I would tell the owner.

Instead, they were lined up at the garage door happily waiting for me to start the morning's routine. They got an exasperated Bad Dog on their way out to run in the yard, though they had no idea what I said. I realized that they were quiet because they were sure that I would do the important things - giving them time outside, refreshing the food and the most important, closing the visit with a treat. I never thought happy dogs would be a problem!

It's been a busy month and one with some sadness. The remarkable 35 plus year old quarter horse is gone. Volunteers on a late night shift somehow got food into him that he couldn't get down his throat. He was just coming out of an event - colic or choking or both - and probably still had some swelling in his throat. After nearly a day trying to resolve the issue, the barn owner had no choice. The horse was miserable and was not going to be able to come out of it, even with the vet trying everything in his arsenal. Emails have been flying around from the person who was in charge of that shift trying to shift the blame. Happily she doesn't have much regard for me so I haven't gotten any of them.

I am not mad at the dogs for giving me such a fright this morning, but they could have picked better timing to decide they could be sure of me.