I woke up at 3:30 this morning to catch a flight to Montgomery, Alabama. I'm performing at a military base an hour south of Montgomery, and the New York to Montgomery route doesn't give people many options. While I was getting ready, Bea was adorable - quietly following me around and nuzzling my leg. She doesn't follow me out of the room when I wake up to use the bathroom, but she somehow knew today was different. Even though I'll be back by noon tomorrow, her behavior this morning is the reason why people love dogs.
The best part about getting a dog is that I've been keeping earlier and earlier hours, so waking up at 3:30 is only a few hours earlier than she'd have woken me up anyway. I slept as much as I could on the plane, despite a fat woman elbowing me, taking up part of my seat, and loudly jabbering on in Spanish to what I can only assume was her daughter. Her daughter was sitting a few rows back, but came up and stood next to her so they could prevent everyone near them from sleeping. I finally asked them to speak a little quieter.
I felt like I did when I asked the guy to leash his dog the other day and he looked at me like I was the bad guy. You're not a dick if you politely ask someone to respect the people around them. You're a dick if you're the one who needs reminding that other people exist.
Last night we ran into another off-leash situation. This one was a smaller dog so we weren't as nervous - but it ran right at Bea and we had to get between them. His owner, of course, excused it as his dog being friendly. There's a great scene in an American Dad episode where Stan breaks his shin bone, and a dog runs over and starts chewing it. "He's so friendly!," remarks the dog's owner, as the dog is slowly killing Stan.
"Look how friendly my dog is!"
There's a part of me that hopes that off-leash dog gets roughed up a bit by a tougher dog so he and his owner both learn a lesson. It's the same part of me that wants an 8-year-old bully to try to start something with a 12-year-old. Hakunah Matata.
Back at the ranch/one bedroom apartment, we are dealing with Bea's separation anxiety by slowly crate training her. She was able to go in the crate for an hour while we were home last night, and we'll be increasing her intervals when I get back. And just to make sure she doesn't bust loose again, we fortified our babygate with several boxes and chairs. If she breaks out of this one, we'll have to rename her David Blaine. You know, because his tricks aren't really magic either.
Sara is doing a wonderful job training Bea, and I realize that I couldn't have done this myself. Well, I could have but I'd have lost several more ethernet cables in the process.
Sara told me that after I left, Bea cried for a few minutes. That is awful because it was 4AM and Sara needed to sleep. But it's also sweet to know that my dog loves me. And if we keep working on it, she can love me from the crate, too.