June 28, 2014
Note: puppies raised in prison, where lights never go out, can sometimes be leery of the dark. BARK!
On the drive back to the Baraga Correctional Facility, FLD Dax rode up front with us. I spread the last two clean towels on the floorboard of the van between the two front seats. We ditched the last of the ginger snaps, thinking they might have become a cue for Dax to start salivating. We hoped we'd have a cleaner time of it.
Dax sat tall between us for a while, but eventually slid into a down. I offered him bits of kibble for being calm and he took them. A good sign! "Good boy, Dax," I repeated. I twisted "Clouded Leopards" (Tellington TTouch massage) in his fur in hopes of keeping him relaxed.
After 15 minutes or so, Dax rested his chin on the towels.
We sort of forgot about him then, thinking our strategy to get him out of the rearward-facing crate was a brilliant idea.
Five minutes from Baraga, Dax ralphed. He never got up from his repose. He nosed one of the towels over his mess and scooted back a few inches. His expression, as he looked up at me, drooled of "I'm sorry, I just couldn't help myself!"
I was glad I thought to bring a garbage bag for my now-soiled stash of towels.
|FLD Dax, looking quite contrite.|