highway from
the trial site. I packed up our gear before the event was over—no point waiting for
a ribbon you have absolutely no chance of getting, right?—and was back at the hotel
by four thirty. Dog people, like elite athletes and senior citizens, like to dine
early and be in bed by ten, and I wanted to get to the dining room before the salad
bar was reduced to scraps of lettuce and pickled beets.
The hotel was a dog lover’s paradise. It was set far back from the highway and surrounded
by a beautifully manicured green lawn in front, which, of course, meant nothing to
seasoned dog travelers. We look for long winding paths and big open fields and well-marked
dog walk areas with strategically placed trash cans. This one had all of those things,
plus the added bonus of a central courtyard onto which all the sliding doors of the
dog-friendly rooms opened, so the last doggie pit stop of the night could be made
in your slippers and robe, if necessary. All designers of hotels should be so thoughtful.
I wanted to nominate them for an award.
I stopped by the room just long enough to feed Cisco one of his specially prepared
homemade energy meals from the mini refrigerator—oatmeal, chicken livers, eggs, milk
solids, and mixed vegetables—and check my phone messages. Miles had texted twice: How did you do? and Running late. Call you after dinner . Melanie had tweeted two pictures of the Smithsonian that made me smile reminiscently
and texted, Go, Cisco! My blue ribbon guy! A later text added, Touring the White House tomorrow. Boooring. Rather see you guys win another ribbon.
I texted back, Tell the Prez I said hi . Then, P.S. Maybe you’ll get to see the First Dog !
By this time Cisco had licked his bowl clean and lapped up half a bowl of water, so
I snapped on his expandable leash, tucked the room key and a couple of pick-up bags
in my pocket, and took him out for his evening walk. Just as in the Old West a cowboy
always took care of his horse first, in the dog world we make sure our dogs are well
fed and comfortable before we take care of ourselves. It’s only right.
We went through the hallway door, which led to the parking lot and the big open field
beyond, and I noticed a couple of other dog walkers had the same idea. I saw Aggie
with Gunny at the edge of the field and waved. She waved back, and we started toward
them at a leisurely pace, Cisco in an ecstasy of sniffing the tracks of other dogs.
When we reached the edge of the parking lot, I gave him a few extra feet on his expandable
leash, and he hurried ahead of me.
I heard a car door slam behind me and glanced around to make certain no other dogs
were heading toward us. Marcie was leaning against her blue minivan with one arm wrapped
around her chest and the other hand covering her mouth, head bowed, clearly upset.
I actually turned to start toward her, and then the driver’s side door opened and
a man came around the van. I thought it was Neil until I saw the tender way he took
Marcie in his arms to comfort her, and then I realized he was a much bigger man than
Neil and quite a bit blonder. He said something in a low tone, and in a moment she
nodded and smiled up at him. He kissed her.
“Well, well,” I murmured to myself. But that wasn’t the most surprising thing I saw.
When they went around to the back of the van and opened it, two dogs got out—Bryte
and Flame. And I distinctly remembered Neil saying he was taking Bryte home.
The man slung the strap of a day bag over his shoulder and they started toward the
dog walk area on the other side of the building. It was at that moment that Cisco
reached the end of his leash and looked back at me inquiringly. I called him to my
side because I didn’t want there to be any misunderstanding about who was walking
whom, then gave him the full twenty feet of expandable leash in which to explore,
and we made our way across the field.
I
the trial site. I packed up our gear before the event was over—no point waiting for
a ribbon you have absolutely no chance of getting, right?—and was back at the hotel
by four thirty. Dog people, like elite athletes and senior citizens, like to dine
early and be in bed by ten, and I wanted to get to the dining room before the salad
bar was reduced to scraps of lettuce and pickled beets.
The hotel was a dog lover’s paradise. It was set far back from the highway and surrounded
by a beautifully manicured green lawn in front, which, of course, meant nothing to
seasoned dog travelers. We look for long winding paths and big open fields and well-marked
dog walk areas with strategically placed trash cans. This one had all of those things,
plus the added bonus of a central courtyard onto which all the sliding doors of the
dog-friendly rooms opened, so the last doggie pit stop of the night could be made
in your slippers and robe, if necessary. All designers of hotels should be so thoughtful.
I wanted to nominate them for an award.
I stopped by the room just long enough to feed Cisco one of his specially prepared
homemade energy meals from the mini refrigerator—oatmeal, chicken livers, eggs, milk
solids, and mixed vegetables—and check my phone messages. Miles had texted twice: How did you do? and Running late. Call you after dinner . Melanie had tweeted two pictures of the Smithsonian that made me smile reminiscently
and texted, Go, Cisco! My blue ribbon guy! A later text added, Touring the White House tomorrow. Boooring. Rather see you guys win another ribbon.
I texted back, Tell the Prez I said hi . Then, P.S. Maybe you’ll get to see the First Dog !
By this time Cisco had licked his bowl clean and lapped up half a bowl of water, so
I snapped on his expandable leash, tucked the room key and a couple of pick-up bags
in my pocket, and took him out for his evening walk. Just as in the Old West a cowboy
always took care of his horse first, in the dog world we make sure our dogs are well
fed and comfortable before we take care of ourselves. It’s only right.
We went through the hallway door, which led to the parking lot and the big open field
beyond, and I noticed a couple of other dog walkers had the same idea. I saw Aggie
with Gunny at the edge of the field and waved. She waved back, and we started toward
them at a leisurely pace, Cisco in an ecstasy of sniffing the tracks of other dogs.
When we reached the edge of the parking lot, I gave him a few extra feet on his expandable
leash, and he hurried ahead of me.
I heard a car door slam behind me and glanced around to make certain no other dogs
were heading toward us. Marcie was leaning against her blue minivan with one arm wrapped
around her chest and the other hand covering her mouth, head bowed, clearly upset.
I actually turned to start toward her, and then the driver’s side door opened and
a man came around the van. I thought it was Neil until I saw the tender way he took
Marcie in his arms to comfort her, and then I realized he was a much bigger man than
Neil and quite a bit blonder. He said something in a low tone, and in a moment she
nodded and smiled up at him. He kissed her.
“Well, well,” I murmured to myself. But that wasn’t the most surprising thing I saw.
When they went around to the back of the van and opened it, two dogs got out—Bryte
and Flame. And I distinctly remembered Neil saying he was taking Bryte home.
The man slung the strap of a day bag over his shoulder and they started toward the
dog walk area on the other side of the building. It was at that moment that Cisco
reached the end of his leash and looked back at me inquiringly. I called him to my
side because I didn’t want there to be any misunderstanding about who was walking
whom, then gave him the full twenty feet of expandable leash in which to explore,
and we made our way across the field.
I
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