Market day is an early morning. I am usually up by 5:30 am so that I can be showered and loaded and on the road by 7 am. This week my husband was on travel, so I had an earlier morning than normal since I needed to also get the morning farm chores done before I could leave. I'm a list girl and I wrote a schedule, and as long as I kept to it, everything would get done. No problem.
In addition to our farm animals, we also have two dogs. Maggie is a ten year old Australian shepherd mix, and Mosby is a 15 month old Flat Coat Retriever.
Mosby is a wild man. He's very sweet and *very* exuberant, but still very much a juvenile. Market days are l o n g days--and Mosby Man isn't quite ready to stay home that long all by himself. Well, maybe I should say that I'm not quite ready for Mosby to be home that long all by himself!
Anyway, our youngest daughter had agreed to meet me in Burlington and take the dogs on an adventure while I was at market. That meant that the two dogs needed to go in the truck with me, along with all my market stuff. Normally I travel to market with the eggs in the front seat, the bins of soap and yarn in the cab area, and all the tables and booth stuff in the bed of the truck. This time the dogs would have to be in the front seat.
I didn't think it would be that big of a deal. It's a pretty generous seat, and I figured they could sit side by side. After I loaded up the truck, I brought the dogs out to get them loaded.
It was a big deal. Maggie was fine with it, but Mosby didn't like the idea at all.
I think I mentioned I had to get up really early, and I had a tight schedule to keep.
Mosby was not cooperating. I was starting to get a little stressed. I really need to arrive at market each week at a set time in order to get a decent space to unload before the larger farm vehicles arrive. Indoor markets have very limited haul in/haul out spaces, so getting all the vendors in and out smoothly in a short period of time is a bit of a dance. And Mosby was screwing with the choreography.
Finally, in sheer frustration, and with more than a few sterns words, I managed to get him in the truck and in the seat with Maggie. He wouldn't sit next to her, though. Maybe he couldn't figure out where he was to sit. Instead, he sat on top of her. I tried to move him over, and show him the empty space where he could easily sit, but he'd have none of it. Maggie was a sweetheart and just rolled her eyes and let him sit there. (Thanks, Mags.)
By the time we were out of the driveway, Mosby had started whimpering (he's a very vocal dog) and shaking pitifully. I was behind schedule, more than a little stressed (!), and, to really make my morning, the damn seat belt indicator had begun dinging for the dogs. And the further we made it down the road the faster and louder the dinging got. The louder the dinging got, the more Mosby shook. He was sitting on Maggie like someone sits on one of those big exercise balls, constantly adjusting and rebalancing. I guess I could have stopped along the road and clicked the seat belt behind the dogs, but as hard as it was to get Mosby into the truck, there was no way I was stopping.
So, this is how we three rode all the way to market.
I've never been so happy to arrive in Burlington! And I know Mosby (and Maggie!) felt the same exact way. :)
(If you're wondering, the seat belt indicator dinger ringer thing stops after about 20 minutes.)
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