A Public Apology to Dudley, the Wonderful Weimaraner

We do not usually kennel Dudley when we travel.   In fact, I can count on one hand the number of times that we have put Dudley into boarding (and we go out of town at least twelve times a year).   Unfortunately for this past trip though, we were unable to find anyone who was availible (and willing) to stay with or keep Dudley, and we were forced to send him off to Happy Tails Pet Resort, the best of  an awful situation.

As I write, Dudley is curled into an impossibly small ball next to me on the couch.   He has barely looked me in the eye.   And no wonder: when I picked him up, his right eye was nearly shut with sticky mucus, glazed and swollen.   The staff of the kennel claimed ignorance.   The Vet pronounced Pink Eye ~ yes, the dreaded, ultra-contagious, only disease that can be passed between man and canine in the entire scope of the medical manual.     But the fact that Dudley has caught a baterial infection that Kenny and I are now in danger of contracting is only the outward expression of the indignity that I have subjected Dudley to.   And so, the apology:

My Dear, Sweet Dudley:

You are not always a perfect dog, but  your heart is always in the right place.   You are not always at the right place at  the right time, but you are always willing to spoon in the big bed.    You are not always obedient, but you always do a perfect sit/stay when bacon is involved.     You do not always hear me say, “Dudley, Come!” but you always hear the glass top come off the cookie jar, and come running.   You  do not always “drop” when you trot by with expensive shoes or Kenny’s favorite toys  in your mouth, but you are always willing to drop the dead bird that you caught on the doorstep just for us.

You are the most loyal, protective and comical dog I’ve ever known.   And you did not deserve to be left behind in a lonely  cage-free (except at night and  on  Sundays)  doggie camp, which I know was not even close to the “pet resort” it promised to  be.    While we were  snuggling into a deliciously soft feather bed in one  of the few  five-star resorts in the US, you were trying to sleep while curled on the  cold hard  mat with only your blankie (which those MEAN kennel people LOST!   Oh, I promise I’ll order a  new one from LL Bean for you online tonight!) to keep you warm.

Will you forgive us?   I know that words cannot  make up for the trauma.   Some chocolate chip cookies, perhaps?     An extra lap around the block on our walk tomorrow?    A new red blankie?    You can sit on my lap the rest of the night, ok?    We can discuss letting you sleep in  the big bed.   I know that this is  no small matter.   I hope you can forget about it soon… how long do dogs remember things like this, anyway?   You don’t seem to remember that  you aren’t allowed to eat food off of Kenny’s high chair, or remember that stilletto heels are not chew toys.   But you are a good boy, most  of  the time, and we love you.    We really do.