But when I called the boys back inside before heading to the post office, Tom decided he’d rather stay in the van. So I grabbed his leash & off we went.
I mean. I went over to see if that’s where he was — I’d left the van doors open while I was loading up, as I often do — & he was sitting on the passenger seat, looking expectant. & then he SQUEAKED at me. So off we went.
He was unimpressed by the gas station parking lot….
Mom.
MOM. Y u do this.
MOM WHAT IS THAT.
(I’m pretty sure it was a bird.)
Mom. I AM DONE HERE.
(This is what I’m talking about, though, when I say I want them to learn that the van is a safe place. When he was done, he didn’t try to find a place under a dumpster or something to hide in — he went back into the van. Because it’s safe.)
He had a MUCH better time at the post office. By which I mean there was dirt to roll in.
EVERYTHING is better when you’re covered in dirt & twigs.
He got plenty of chinpettings on the way home, so he was pretty cheerful about the trip overall. But he still dashed back into the house quick once we were home. Little steps — he’ll get there.
