Grandparenting 101: F

OK, so a dog is not like a baby in most ways, but right now the closest thing we have to a grandchild is Janice's Old English Sheepdog, Charlie, the 100-pound, 10-year-old gentle giant about whom (which?)I have written before.

This weekend Janice as usual brought Charlie along for a visit. The difference this time was that she was planning to be in the Adirondacks overnight at a wedding and wanted Charlie to stay with us. (We were going to be away just for the day.)

That involved making sure Charlie got walked when we got home (so that he would, ahem, void both his bladder and his bowels) and then getting him settled down for the night.

After spending the day alone in the house, Charlie was thrilled to see us when we got home about 9 p.m. But after prancing around the car after we opened the door and discovering Janice was not with us, his joy seemed to melt away. He merely sat in the driveway, apparently to await Janice's return. I told him several times that wouldn't happen until the next afternoon, but made no impression on him.

He did some moving around, when he may or may not have pooped and peed, although a half-hearted search found no proof of either. But by then the issue was getting him to come into the house for the night so we could go to sleep.

Calling and pleading didn't seem to work, and my pointing out the chilly forecast also had no effect. So Emily came up with a dog-centric solution: she heated up a piece of chicken and put in on a fork, bringing it outside so Charlie could catch a whiff. The lure worked as he followed her inside and devoured the chicken and some of his own food.

Next issue: where would he sleep? He typically flops next to Janice's bed. This night, he roamed around for a while before sitting down next to my side of our bed. I scratched him some, and he spread out on the floor. But he was restless for much of the night, going to Emily's side a few times and also laying down in the hall. It was not a restful night for anybody.

The next morning, he ignored my suggestions we take a walk, and also wouldn't eat, merely lazing on the living-room rug. I called Janice, but there was no cell service where she was.

She finally called around noon, saying she was on her way and not to worry about Charlie. If we had to go out he would make it obvious, she said.

When she finally pulled in around 1, Charlie was reborn, springing to his feet, lapping her face and gratefully accepting lots of scratching.

Then he went outside to poop and pee and came in to eat. His tasks for the day had been largely fulfilled.