I know a lot of us camp with our furry friends (not to be confused with Furbies, which is a whole different therapy session for another group). But honestly have you ever looked at your dog on a trip and thought, what exactly do they need a vacation from? They already live better than half of us.
Take Odie, for example. He’s basically built like a decorative throw pillow with legs. Short little legs. Zero sense of urgency. When he finally wakes up—whether it’s from hogging three-quarters of a king-size bed (yes, he’s only 17 pounds) or from the tragedy of having to sleep in his “seta dog bed”—he immediately barks at us. Not because something’s wrong, but as if to say, “Good morning, peasants. My day of luxury begins—please start the service.” From there, life is simple. He’s got a personal doorman to let him out, and of course, we must wait until he decides to come back in (skunk incident excluded). His food? Must pass Gordon Ramsay levels of approval before he’ll even sniff it.
And we all say it: “Oh, our dog loves camping!” Well, duh. Why wouldn’t they? They get waited on paw and foot, chill under the A/C in summer and the heater in winter, go on more walks than they ever dreamed of, and best of all they’ve got their loyal pheasants (that’s us) following them around picking up their poop like it’s some royal offering. Meanwhile, we humans are out here finding dog-friendly campgrounds, setting everything up so it’s safe for the king, and spending an extra twenty minutes just dog-proofing the site. Then, when we finally get home? Odie gets a spa day to recover from his tough trip. Do I get a spa day after setting up camp, tearing it down, and emptying the black tank in 110-degree heat?
Nope. Not even a coupon for a free foot rub
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