Pet-napped!

Pet-napped!

Oh, no, the big blue cooler. This is bad, really bad. Papa’s filling it up with food from the refrigerator. That means they’re going to leave again.

Hey, wait—there goes my bed. Why is Papa taking my bed outside? I prop my front legs on the desk in the bay window to look outside, but I can’t quite see where Papa went.

My sibs, Ruben and Finnegan, haven’t noticed what’s going on. Finnegan is all curled up on his gray puff pillow, sound asleep. Ruben was upstairs on Mama’s bed and didn’t see Papa grab my bed and walk right past him.

Mama is rushing around packing her bags, vacuuming, and piling things up near the door for Papa to take out to the car.

I hate it when they leave.

Wait, what’s going on now? Papa just got out my leash. Are we going for a walk? Yay, they aren’t leaving—probably just going to the dump, and after that we’ll get a long walk. I love walks!

Papa brings me outside. But where are Finn and Ruben? We all go for walks together. Stick with the script, Papa, you’re making me nervous.

Papa opens the car door and there’s my bed. My bed, in the car?!

Mama sashays out the door, all happy-like, and climbs in, and Papa drives us away. I sit and look out the window, waiting for Finn and Ruben to come chase us down, but of course, they’re totally unaware that I’ve been singled out, taken away, pet-napped!

It must be vet day. Argh, I hate going to the vet—and besides, Mama and Papa just took me last weekend to have my rump poked three times by the nice vet lady. I heard her say I’m all up to date now on my shots.

I bark to get Papa to roll down my window. I stick my head out but can’t quite smell where we’re at. The wind and rain make me pop my head back in, and Papa rolls up the window. Not good, I feel trapped—I bark again. With the window open once more, I stick my head out and look both ways but still can’t recognize the smell or the scenery. This is not the way to the vet, that's for sure.

I sigh in relief and want to lie down, but not on my bed. Why is it in the car? I can’t sleep when I don’t know what’s going on, so I get up again and bark, and Papa opens the window a crack.

He and Mama laugh, and she says, “It’s going to be a long ride, with Téte barking, the window opening and closing, and all this rain.”

When the wind starts to sting my eyes and my head is nice and wet, I try to lie down again. I wander over and touch my bed but I’m still suspicious—it might be a trap. So back to the window I go and let out my sharpest bark. It startles Papa, and the car veers.

I put my head out and holy cow, snow! And lots of it. Papa slows down, Mama smells scared, and Papa asks me to please sit down and stop my bloody barking because he needs to focus.

So I sit—for a whole 10 seconds. Then I bark like crazy until Papa pries one hand off the wheel and opens my window again.

Whoa Nelly, it’s like Mama’s snow globe out there. Big flakes are falling, the car is swerving, and I think I hear Papa swear. Mama has her eyes closed. Is she praying?

Hours pass. Papa stops at a gas station and they both go inside to pee. Do they consider that I might have to pee too? Nope. But Papa did buy me a cheese stick! I love cheese.

After what feels like a two-day car ride (and Papa says it felt like opening and closing the window for two days straight), the car stops at a huge house made of wood and rocks. It smells familiar. Hey, I know this place—I’ve been here before.

It was about five years ago, the last time Mama and Papa pet-napped me. I remember they said it was a special vacation for just them and me. But after a few walks and a good smell of the place, I wanted to go home. Now they’ve brought me here again.

Maybe staying home when Papa and Mama go on their trips isn’t so bad. I’m a homebody at heart, who doesn't like to be pet-napped.