George Does Doggie Daycare

Every time I drop this guy off at “doggie daycare” a part of my soul dies.

It’s not that I have anything against doggie daycare. It’s just that it makes me feel like such a jerk. Does the fact that I drop my dog off at daycare make me like one of those people who pushes their dogs around busy streets in strollers? Ugh. I hope not.

Lately, though, things have gotten worse. 

You see, If George were a human (ahem, I may treat him like he is one), he’d be the equivalent of that child in your 5th grade class who had major ADD. His shirt would always have some sort of condiment on the sleeve. His pants would be wrinkled. He’d speak out of turn.  

So, it should come as no surprise that when I pick him up after work, the gals that run the place practically throw me the leash and say, “godspeed” as George and I mosey to my old Volvo. 

And so continues the story of George and Evans. 

Someday, George and I will be on a big farm. Until then, I think we’ll continue to stir up trouble at daycare.

Because you’re not really living unless you have a purple jelly stain on your collar. Or balancing a goldfish on your nose.