On Friday night, I picked up my brother’s dog, Hannah, from his house (about an hour away). Keith, his wife, and their darling almost-two-year-old daughter went out of town for the weekend, and Hannah came to stay at our house.
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It struck me at some point during the weekend how much taking care of a relative’s dog is similar to taking care of a niece or nephew. You love the dog, because she’s “family” – after all, you said you would take her if anything ever happened to her! But you can’t help but notice differences in how she was “raised” – differences that you can’t quite help but feel slightly judgmental about. When Hannah jumps on the couch without “asking,” pants in my ear and whines and is generally just obnoxious (anxious) in the car, and sneaks the cat’s food every time I forget to put it back up onto the counter, I find myself thinking, “She’s a nice dog but sheesh! I sure love my Otto.”
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It’s hard to remember to also give Hannah a ton of credit for paying no attention to my chickens or ancient cat, not climbing in my raised vegetable bins, not counter-surfing, not chewing anything in the house, and for getting along so nicely with Otto (whom, I can tell, she really is not very fond of). Here she is, dropped into a new household without her family for a long weekend, and she’s being a good sport and not crying herself to sleep at night. She’s actually a very nice dog, indeed. Even if her table manners aren’t up to my standards.
Have you ever cared for a relative’s dog? How did it go?
