An Update from the Penitentiary

The dogs have settled nicely into their prison space next the house, it must be said. They've each marked out their spot for sleeping, peeing and pooping. Of course, that space just happens to be right next where the gate opens. Jumping over them to fill the water bowl has become my daily aerobics workout. And at night, when I head out to feed them, I look ever so glam with my one-spot headlamp guiding me through the land mines.

I miss having the dogs in front of the house, I have to admit. I planted bulbs for the first time in 3 years and we might even have grass out there this summer, but I miss seeing them as we come and go. There isn't that little white fur ball or massive Malamute choirboy coming towards you for a scratch when you get home. It feels lonely to me.

The irony is that pretty much every visitor we've had since the dogs moved to the side yard has said how nice it is to come to our place now. There's no worry about being assaulted by the three escape artists as our friends wriggle in past the front gate. It's calmer and cleaner and no body's yelling, "watch out for the dogs!" An element of chaos at the B&B has been relegated to neutral territory. And to my chagrin, with much success.

Sure, we can leave the gate wide open now and take our time to come in. Unloading groceries is a pleasure and hauling wood almost a dawdle. But, truth be told, I miss my dogs out front. I miss them lounging on the steps, digging holes in my flowers, pooping on the terrace, shedding all over the hydrangeas, barking, singing, and being excited to see me.

It's better that they are confined, it's true. The chicken population of the Puy de Dôme needs to be able to live in relative security and harassing donkeys isn't something a Siberian Husky really needs to be good at. But I miss them at my feet.

I take solace that I can at least open the kitchen window and sing with them when making dinner.