Everybody in the dollhouse is doing very well. We were out of town all weekend, with the exception of Mister Leroy, who held down the fort while The Electrician and I celebrated our recent wedding with family and a few friends back home on my folks’ farm. Sherman stayed at our kennel and enjoyed a couple days of doggie sleep-away camp; Quest hitched a ride all the way to Drayton Valley in the jump seat of our new Toyota Tacoma. We are working hard to socialize her with all kinds of people and to get her used to fun life events like road trips, so it was important she come along for the adventure.

As The Electrician said on our way out of town, “So much for that ‘new car’ smell. (I like the smell of dog better.) Besides, I’ve heard that new car aroma comes from all the chemicals leaching out of the new synthetic surfaces and is rather toxic.

When we stopped for gas, I hopped out and picked up two Pepsis, one regular for the husband and one diet for me. Because I was starving and dinner wouldn’t be for at least two hours, I also grabbed a snack size bag of potato chips for the humans in the truck to share.

Quest is excellent in the car and her good conduct continued on our weekend getaway. She was happy to gaze contentedly out the window behind my seat in the truck, occasionally snuffling her big soft nose into my hair to make sure I remembered she was there. Her relaxation ended abruptly, however, when I broke the seal on our snack. As soon as the foil let go, she plopped her head dramatically onto the console between the front seats, eyes pleading like two pools of chocolate caramel, nostrils opening and closing with dramatic gusto. She grunted in the general direction of our potato chips, and tilted her face my way. When I ignored her, or pretended to at least, she sighed hard enough to fog the radio panel.

“Um, sweetie,” The Electrician began curiously, “what kind of chips did you buy?”

“Ruffles,” I answered. “I love Ruffles, but it’s hard to find anything except all dressed.”

Another massive sigh from the dog, this time with the hint of a whine. She twitched her ears in frustration.

“What flavour Ruffles?” my ever-patient (bless him) husband tried again. Quest tried giving him the gooey eyes and was again ignored.

“Sour cream and bacon. These suckers are hard to get. I can’t remember the last time I bought some.”

Then it hit me: I bought meat flavoured potato chips to eat in front of a dog due in just an hour for supper. To her credit, Quest never tried to steal a chip or to stick her tongue into the bag. The poor mutt just kept her head on the console, sighing hard enough to power a windmill and looking extra pathetic. Remember that fake bacon is even more tantalizing than actual bacon, since the flavouring is extra strong to make up for the fakeness, like the way grape Kool-Aid is far “graper” than any actual grape you could hope of eating.

I am a cruel foster mother. The only thing worse would have been eating bacon chips in front of a hungry dog and a hungry husband: at least I shared with my spouse.

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