Whose Dogs Are These?
When we moved to Wyoming, we knew our lives would change.
We most certainly didn't know how much Wyoming would change our dogs.
We went from a dog-walking culture (one person described our street as the American Kennel Club) to a dogs-in-backyard culture. Gone are the big pet stores (like Centinela Feed) with their fancy treats, dog trainers, and dog groomers - unless we want to drive 30 miles to the next town. Even in the next town, the variety of fancy treats is limited.
In Los Angeles, our dogs were our alarm clocks (a duty they inherited from the cats). When we took out their halters and leashes, they hid under the bed. When we could finally get them out for a walk, they were suspicious of other dogs, and walked only long enough to do their business and maybe eat some grass. We called Audrey (our most recent rescue) the Stress Queen - she dug into the bed and the chairs, and yelped in agony if a dog her size or bigger approached her.
Perhaps because we are no longer on a schedule, the dogs let us sleep until we're ready to get up. They love chasing rabbits and birds in the backyard. They love sunning themselves on the back deck. They find other dogs to be an interesting curiosity, and they settle immediately into the most comfortable available furniture. And they're very happy to munch on apples, cucumbers, carrots, and pears.
It's hard to believe these are the dogs who travelled over 1,200 miles with us. But they are most certainly our Wyoming dogs.
