So we went away for the weekend, to a family wedding in the Poconos. Which meant Eloise, Molly, and Raebert had to spend three nights in a kennel. (I told you about the Bordatella shots.) Everybody reacts differently, of course. Eloise was the only one who knew immediately what was up when we got there. She refused to greet the nice lady in the lobby and hid quivering behind my leg, then planted her little tush on the doormat and refused to budge. Fortunately, she only weighs 17 pounds, so resistance was futile.
Molly may have suspected, but she wasn’t sure till they led her away.
Raebert had no idea. He was still a yearling the only other time he’d been boarded, and that place wasn’t this place. The new people were making a fuss over him, which he’s used to and finds reassuring. He trotted off with them as if he was about to get his nails clipped. No problem.
Coming home was a different matter altogether. Eloise was ecstatic. Molly was relieved but had made friends (“she’s the sweetest thing ever…”). Raebert was bathed, brushed, handsome in his complimentary bandanna, and clearly stunned by the experience. They said he didn’t eat much. The groomer raved about his coat and, mostly, his calm. Only had to put the muzzle on him during the roughest part of the combing. Not because he was aggressive but because he turned his head back a couple times, and those are really big teeth he has if he wanted to use them.
Back home, Eloise and Molly immediately fell back into their routines. Crisis over.
Raebert, on the other hand, has mostly slept, occasionally making noises like the horse in the previous post‘s video. He’s been so crashed that you have to look to see he’s still breathing. The first night he didn’t want dinner. He wanted to be upstairs with us, where he didn’t even want treats but took one to make his mother happy. He’ll be all right tomorrow, she cheerfully predicted.
Now it’s Wednesday, and he’s still exhausted. He didn’t get up for breakfast and when he did get up he just got on the couch next to me for another hour and sighed. We’re thinking he didn’t sleep at all when he was away.
But he’s had breakfast finally, and now he’s sort of awake, making grumbling noises.
I wouldn’t say he’s mad. Disappointed would be a better word. Which is pretty mature, given that he’s three.