The trials of transition

Linus has been living the good life at a cozy doggie resort for the past few weeks. There's plenty of space, always a person to cuddle with and numerous opportunities to snag a treat whenever he flashes a sweet expression.

Since we moved into Dad's house, he's tasted the hypnotizing effect of human food, rolled around with ample toys in a lush and expansive fenced backyard and enjoyed the company of two lovely ladies, my Dad's dogs Ellie and Lucy. He's even taken a short reprieve to Aunt Jessica's where he relished in a smorgasboard of endless food and enjoyed the constant company of his buddies Nina and Lady. In these environments, he is rarely scolded or restrained. Life for my buddy has been one big party.

Sunday, after several weeks in the company of family members, I decided it was time to go home. So, naturally, when we arrived back at our second floor apartment across town, he entered with the same familiarity that had been present through our first few months living there. He scampered light-footed up the stairs and through the door with excitement. He revisited every corner of the place and made sure his food bowl was in its right spot by the cabinets in the kitchen. But when he was done investigating, there was an unmistakeable look of disappointment on his face. He started to wind down slowly, then looked to me with utter confusion.

I poured a shoebox full of his toys on the floor to try to get him to remember how we passed the time together before, just the two of us. Squeaky skunk, squeaky beaver, stretchy elephant thing, tennis ball? I threw the squeaky skunk across the dining room. No interest at all. He found the remnants of an old plastic bone and spent most of the night chewing on mangled bone in his crate. Was he depressed? I can imagine he was dealing with the same feeling you get when you get back to your office after a beach vacation. No more Pina Coladas or pool decks. Back to real life. Wah-wah.

I've never worried before about whether my living space was condusive to the needs of my small dog. We get out every day, we take walks and socialize with our neighbors, he rides with me wherever I go where he is also welcome (and sometimes not). But after he's seen a glorious habitat offered at my Dad's spacious suburban home, I'm worried he'll fall into terrible jealousy of the things he can't have. And this thought process leads me to my next dreadful consideration: am I a bad mother for not being able to provide a resort-like home for my pup? I mean, I hope one day we will have our own large fenced backyard where he'll be able to play and romp around with my other French bulldogs (yes, there shall be more). And even without a yard, is it cruel for me to keep him at home without a companion? Should I have another dog to keep him company? What can I do to help my dog live his best life, even if it's not at my dad's house?

So many questions can haunt a doggie mommy. But for today, I'm doing what I can, which means as many walks and outings and the like that we can fit into our schedule. And, for now, a couple nights a week at "Papaw's" won't hurt us. If you have ideas on how to make the apartment dog's life as enjoyable as possible, without the pleasures of a large yard, please share your thoughts with us and leave a comment.