Ron and I meet in a small town in the middle of Alberta and continue to our campsite in the Cypress Hills. The pup is sort of a non-entity because I’m tired and we’re in a hurry. He walks on a leash, he pees, he poops, he eats, he drinks. Good pup.
Ron tells me that he got out of the chain link run we have out the back door that nobody in 30 years has gotten out of, not even my Papillon-in-law, and then he got out of the big dog run that also nobody has ever gotten out of, so that the hired guy found him and Stitch wandering around in the farm yard eating cat poop. Good guy found and fixed the two teensy little holes and deposited the wanderers back where they belonged.
And once again I’m thrilled by how well he rides in the car. Absolutely quiet, and sound asleep.
Of course that meant he slept all day, which meant he was a hooligan in the evening, barking at Syn, walking around like a buzz saw
but Ron takes mercy on me and handles him until morning.