Insult to Injury
So, of course, poor Minnie got NO breakfast and of course, there was some stupid traffic jam with lots of stop-and-go traffic (VERY bad for Minnie - she does best on freeways, etc.,) and of course, Minnie puked up her stomach bile, all the while I was trying to say comforting things and not get us killed by a semi at the same time.
After the humiliation that is the groomer's, we come home to find MORE signs put up by the realtor. Already, we've had a time or two when people have requested a showing and neither Mr. J. nor I were home. We keep Minnie gated in her basement paradise - the food! the bed! the squeaky toy! and we have told our realtor that ya just don't pet Minnie. Our realtor is supposed to pass this info on to any other visitors. But for the most part, I really plan to be home with her during the showings. I can just take her for a nice, extra-long walk while strangers parade through my home with their dirty feet.
Aside: She's a rescued dog, I've had her for 3 years, I've spent (literally) thousands of dollars on vets and trainers trying to figure out was she abused? Is it a thyroid thing? Is she in pain? Is there a physical reason she's doing this? Point is - please don't ask me, "Have you taken her to a trainer?" I HATE when people ask me that. Like, "What? A trainer? What is it? I've never heard of that! How would I even go about attempting something like that?" The answer is, "Yes, and then some."
On the frame of the doorway to Minnie's basement paradise, we now have this sign. Oh, the humiliation. Why not just write, "Pox" on the doorway instead? Poor Minnie.