He had a really nice visit to New Orleans last week. He behaved well in Aunt Dot’s backyard, when he was there, and when he was allowed in the house, he was a gentleman. He rested in our spare bedroom, played nicely with Emma, and even when he escaped to the living room he didn’t do anything more rambunctious than sniffing and wagging. He got to spend lots of time in Julie’s backyard playing with her dog Bourbon, and we took him to the NOLA City Bark four days in a row.
He’s also really good in the car. We couldn’t ask for a better traveling dog – he slept on his mat most of the time, and didn’t need pee stops any more often than the rest of us. We’ve been careful not to feed him fast food or snacks, ever, so he can share a backseat with a teenager and a cheeseburger without anything more than a vaguely left-out stare.
And now he’s sick. He has a terrible cough, which started really suddenly. I thought he was choking on something – he coughs so hard he gags himself, a reaction I remember clearly from his “I’m a Puppy and I Eat Mittens and Other Very Inappropriate Things’ phase. But he’s not choking, and he hasn’t eaten anything bad. He’s just a sick, sick puppy.