Except...if you know our beloved Diggers well, you know she's a tad introverted. You know her social anxiety is high. If dogs could take Xanex we'd replace her Beggin' Strips with pills. As a result, she rarely leaves her house.
Where she lacks in confidence, however, she compensates with a keen ability to read people - especially Mr. W and me.
She knows if we grab boots or tennis shoes the odds of her getting leashed for a nice walk is high. So, when the Uggs were pulled on and the Newbies laced up this weekend, she just assumed we were outfitting ourselves to serve her needs.Cue the tail wagging and the melody of her howls. Even if you're a cat person, the cuteness of it all will break your heart!
She didn't realize we were heading off, without plans to bring her, to the grocery store parking lot suburban version of a Christmas tree farm - the same place where we bought a tree last year, where I swore in the name of Clark W. Griswold I would never return. I prefer a sprawling, country farm where Mr. W hauls his own saw and I pretend for the day that I'm Laura Ingles, but alas...we're getting old and lazy and well....back to the 'burb lot we went. Don't judge.
Only this time...we took the dog.
Just like all the J Crew-looking families in the country with their pedigree labs do, we took or bow-legged, smelly, scared-of-her-shadow basset hound with us to select a Christmas tree.
We did this because telling a dog who thinks she's about to escape hours on end of watching football and bad Hallmark channel holiday movies.....
Wake me when it's time to act like my kind
that she's isn't leaving the house to pee on trees is like telling me that I won't be able to see Smoky Mountain Christmas on TV this December - it's just hurtful and wrong.
I'm happy to report that, save doing some business in the middle of the "forest", Chloe was a real trooper. She sniffed out this beauty of an evergreen...
then proceeded to pout the rest of the day when I dedicated my time to decorating it....and not rubbing her belly.