Poor Boo...

Moving and changing most of my life was at best disconcerting and sometimes pure trauma. And of course, I projected that out onto my dog. What are our fur people for if not anthropomorphizing every nuance of their existence? I wound up taking Boo with me everywhere I went, my little hood ornament in the back seat. He even went to work, living in the car in the morning (he had lots of shade and water, and a mid morning Milk Bone), and under my desk in the afternoon. Now that work is over and school has started, it was time to leave him home, no guaranteed shade in the parking lot, well no guaranteed parking place, either. And, of course, he had a dandy case of separation anxiety. This comes under the category of troubles of my own making. Sigh. Fortunately, we have a doggie expert on the radio, Warren Epstein, every Saturday when I am out and about doing my errands. Warren said give them a special treat, a pat on the head and leave. And no fuss when I come back either. So the first time, I gave Boo a chew-stick. It is specially treated to be good for his teeth, too. I will never forget the sight of that little black dog sitting in the middle of our front room, chew-stick sticking out of both side of his mouth, terror in his eyes. I left the radio on, too. Probably he didn't need that, but it just seemed a nice thing to do for him. I would want someone to do that for me. He was a trembling mass of joy when I came home, and I just patted him and went about hiding my keys from myself, which I do every time I come home. While I was gone, he burrowed under the 16 pillows on my bed (more about that another time) so he could curl up on the one at the bottom, the one I sleep on. So sweet. The second time, he refused the chew-stick, as if not accepting it would keep me from leaving. Smart cookie, this dog. Milk Bones didn't work, either. Yesterday I bought new and better treats. I'm a smart cookie, too. I don't know who I am training here, me or the dog, but I am feeling more OK about leaving him.