My city dog Martini is going on holiday in Southern Connecticut for two weeks. She is planning to do some running, sniffing, playing and maybe even catch up on her reading. Martini says, with her black coat, the city is just too hot this time of year. She needs to get out and breathe some country air. She might decide to move out there if she can find a place that fits her canine needs.
This is what I tell myself. In reality, our 4-year-old lab is doing a two week trial period with a family that will hopefully adopt her. She is sitting right here at my feet and I already miss her. Martini was a handful from the very beginning. I picked her out at a Long Island animal rescue league when she was three months-old. Even as a puppy, she was so elegant and beautiful. Very Audrey Hepburn-esque if you can imagine the late actress as a dog. Beautiful but insanely, crazy hyper. Four years later, she still has so much energy that we had to hire a professional dog runner to run her five miles a day. I do realize that my dog is in better shape than either me or my husband Rick. Rick wanted to adopt a different dog from the shelter. He liked this puppy named Lucky Girl. I’m sure Lucky Girl does not have a personal trainer. In fact, I’m sure she is asleep right now.
One day, we finally decided that Martini deserved more room to run around and play. She deserves to be a dog, not spend her life in 1,200 square feet. I don’t know what to tell my toddler Dylan. I don’t know what to tell myself. We are going to try to let her go so she can be happy. Sometimes it’s the crazy ones we love the most.