For Pet's Sake: A Story of Percy and Quinn

This weekend we took off for the Iowa Games to catch our boy play just a little more soccer. No, we really don't get tired of it. You might hear my husband sigh and complain about going, but don't believe it for one second. That's all pretend. We both love it. Watching talented youth with all of their energy is uplifting as heck. And, there's beer to be had after those games.

Whenever we leave for a short weekend away, we need to decide what to do with our pets. I'm usually all for boarding. Doug, the true-blue farm kid, doesn't believe in this philosophy. He's of the camp that animals can stay at home and be checked by the neighbor. I usually fret over this decision. On one hand, the animals like staying at home. On the other hand, what if a storm comes up? On one hand, there's less hair in the car when we don't transport them. On the other hand, Quinn might get eaten by a coyote. It usually comes down to whether there's rain in the forecast and how long we decide to stay away. Since we were only going to be gone one night and the weather appeared amenable, we decided to let them stay home and sleep under the stars... on their honor. We made implicit instructions: no parties while we're gone. Grandpa Ron will be checking on you!

Well. As usual, we left in a flurry – running in and out of the house seventeen times to ensure we had everything. Sunscreen. Allergy pills. Beer. Water. Snacks. Beer. And, oh yes, soccer gear. Finally, we were off to Ames. I always have this bit of anxiety when we leave for trips. I'm certain we've forgotten something. And that something is so unique that it could never, ever be purchased at a Target store. #irrational #neurotic_mom

Waiting for an ear-scratching.

By the time evening came, we had our first pet report:

Percy is good. Can't find cat. 

A good report! Our cat only appears when its hungry or needs its belly scratched. It's the dog I mostly worry about. On top of his over-domestication (guilty!), you see, our dog was just recently diagnosed with diabetes. It seemed overnight, our chubby terrier gained new nicknames: Slimdawg and Skeletor. The poor thing receives insulin shots twice a day and can no longer partake in ice cream. Thus, the worry over our dog rivals the worry over our kids. Just kidding. Sort of.

The next day as we were getting ready for the games, we received a call from Grandpa Ron. No Percy. No Quinn. He called out to them and looked everywhere. We told him not to worry. He was probably under the deck. His hearing was failing too, after all. But after I hung up with my father, I had a pit in my stomach. Maybe his time had come. And I hadn't really said a proper good-bye to him... all those stupid trips in and out of the house!

But we had some games to watch. I said a prayer that our animals were not suffering and flipped to soccer mom mode. But it wasn't far from my mind.When the weather switched and the clouds grew dark during the last game, I began to internally berate myself. Even if our pets were safe and sound, now they'd be caught in a storm. I should've boarded them.

The last game was finally called due to lightning. Our boys got second place. (They should've gotten first, but that's a story for another time.) I was ready to get on the road. We took off in the rain. I buried my head in a book and tried to push back the dread that perhaps we had lost our beloved little barker.

Two and a half hours later, we pulled into our driveway. The rain had stopped by then. But there was no one to greet us. My heart was sinking just as Cole said, "There he is!"

Our little Percy came prancing out, bright-eyed and muddy as hell. Hallelujah! The pang zipped out of my heart. I hopped out of the truck to hug the rain-soaked dog, not caring about the stink he was gifting my hands. I glanced around for the cat whose usual ploy was to lurk on the ledge. But there was no Quinn. I began a futile call for the cat who doesn't like to be commanded to come. And then the most amazing thing happened. Doug opened the door to the house. And the cat rushed outside. Quinn had decided to stay at the Hotel Kramer for the night. I had to laugh. I couldn't even be upset. Our cat and dog were alive! That's all that mattered... for the next couple of minutes, at least. Then I realized something. The cat most certainly had a party in our house. We'd have mess. Kitty mess.

Messes. Schmesses. My joy over our pets made up for any poop or pee left to clean. Besides, we have Cole for that duty. Good boy, Cole.

It's always naptime for these ole dogs.