Dump Day

This is what a spoiled happy dog looks like.

Had someone told me years ago that my dogs would come to love car rides, I'd have laughed. Politely I'd tell them they were mistaken. And then I'd laugh some more.

Our dogs have never been car ride dogs. Peaches hyperventilated and paced the entire time. Amara would stand on her hind legs, watch out the window, and whine and bark at everything. Goodness forbid we had to park anywhere for a time. They'd mouth off at every passing person! (I swear, they're really quite cuddly and sweet. - Barking aside. -  In fact, they are curled up at my feet right now, the pictures of furry angels.)

To be fair, it was probably partially our fault. Car rides only came around during vet visits and groomer appointments. Secret: neither Amara nor Peaches liked the groomers or vets. (Uh, oh. That's  the recipe for disaster right there.)

And then came the invention of Doggie-and-Daddy Dump Day.

I have no idea how the tradition began. I try and try to remember, but nothing comes. It kind of snuck up on us one day, a whim of a thought that became a tradition. Every Sunday my father gathers all of the trash, "saddles up" the pooches, and brings them with him. They sit in the front seat. If they're really good and the right person is on duty, the transfer station workers give them treats. (Treats? No wonder Amara loves it so much! Food is her middle name.)

Talk about a personality change! Now the car is their best friend.

They are excited for whatever rides come their way. But they are especially eager every weekend for their special ride with dad. Come the weekend, in the wee hours of the breaking morning, Peaches and Amara line up at the top of the stairs. Peaches lays her head down on the top stair, pushing her tail up in the air, wagging it a mile a minute. Amara lays down with her paws hanging over the first step, wide-eyes transfixed on the door while she wiggles in place, trying to contain the "ants in her pants." Every time dad brings a new bag out to the truck, Peaches jumps up, prances, and dances around - crying in fear she'll be left behind.

When the door opens for the last moment and dad asks: "Ready to go to the dump?"

Both dogs perk up and dash down the stairs, out the door. I can practically hear them pant: "Dumpdumpdumpdump, let'sgolet'sgolet'sgo!"