Back!

Ok so training was great. The first day and a half were hard - adjusting to everyone and all different personalities - but once we all got to know each other, things did look up. Very up. I told mom before I left that I was afraid it was going to be camp all over again. Camp where I didn't make friends and someone stole my ice from my cup at lunch. But no, adulthood has begun to mend some of those wounds. Anyway, before I ramble too much, below are three posts I started while training (you can tell which one was late at night and cranky) and I'm also attaching some pictures of our cabin, training dogs etc.:

Right now I’m holding a Chihuahua who has an allergy problem and is snurrfling on my lap. He also has the worst breath of any animal, human or otherwise, I’ve ever had the pleasure of smelling and so while he’s licking my face it looks cute but nearly knocked me with over with a wave of dragon odor. He’s so attached to his owner (our trainer), that while she’s gone for lunch he keeps skittering around the house whining and jumping on furniture to look out the window for her.

I thought the memo said to bring your own food. So while Millie brought rice cakes and water, and Corinne brought cereal bars and green tea, I brought tortillas, two types of cheese, ham, bagels, cream cheese, oatmeal, rice bowls, noodle bowls, canned soup, Cheez-its, apples, bananas and of course, Doritos. I see nothing wrong with this, I just don’t get why I am consistently the one who requires more food than everyone else or, when instructed to bring meals, brings meals. I mean, if those instructions had been serious, and there really were very few to no stores nearby I’d be the queen of training. Because I, for once, followed directions and now have all the power. Mwahahaha. Or just offer the food to everyone politely because I’m trying to make friends.

If I have to: fake smile, fake laugh at a joke a 3 year old wouldn’t find funny, refrain from rolling my eyes, hear the long-haired woman wearing tie dye say she didn’t want to do the whole, “gun thing”, hear the brash young-one reply that, “per capita, every person in Texas has 20 guns”, hear the Canadian gasp at the former comment, pretend like I fit in, I’ll shoot myself.