When the pack starts to pack— my butt starts to drag. When mom puts bye-bye-blankie in a bag, along with sweaty tees (one each: mom, dad and bro), a zip lock of kibble and treats, and we get in the car, Oh no. I quiver like jell-o in the shotgun seat. She strokes my head, Oh no.

Then we pull into— Camp Boss! O Yay! O Happy Day! Boss opens her front door, my collie pal Opie shoves his head out from behind her knees, and it’s Hello! I must be going! I don’t look back. It’s fun fun fun at camp.

It’s way out in the country. There’s a huge, scraggly, fenced-in lawn where I’m teacher’s pet at the human obedience classes— So many dogs! So little time! It’s free play the last five minutes: everyone off leash. I twinkle at the biggest cutie, and— We’re off! Those big meatballs think they’ll catch me. Ha! I keep them running till either I get tired or they get too close. Then I duck under something small— Thud! Yip! Thud! Yowl! Thud! Thud! Thud!— and watch the pile up. I give them a minute to sort themselves out and dart out to do it again. Hee hee hee.

There’s a monster ramshackle barn. Around three sides, under roof overhang, there are kennels for the big hunting dogs. The free-standing, uncovered kennels where the really tough, outdoor dogs stay are behind the barn. I help boss make her rounds, off leash. She trusts me to stay close. I sample everyone’s kibble for tastiness before she puts it out, exchange butt sniffs with the friendly dogs, and avoid the ones with teeth.

Inside dogs stay in the barn. Except me, of course. I sleep in boss’s house, on her bed. Did I tell you she calls me The Little Flower? I get to rest atop her couch back too. Very nice. From there, I can survey my temporary domain through the window: birds in the air, squirrels in the trees, Cat stalking mice. Also, I can get away from Opie, who won’t take No. He can’t help it. I don’t blame him. I can't help it I’m cute.

Opie’s not allowed on the furniture. He watches me jump up there, and runs to tattle. Boss follows him in. He swings his head at me, then back to her, then back at me: Look! Look!

“I know,” she says to him, winking at me. “She’s a poodle. She’s hypoallergenic. You’re not. She doesn’t shed. You do. She’s petite. You’re a big old lummox.” He gazes at her reproachfully: I am NOT a big old lummox. She smiles at him and walks away.

He looks at me. He looks at her retreating back. Back at me. Back where she was but now isn’t. Back at me. He tilts his head, Huh? Opie isn’t the swiftest sprinter in the pack. Sweet though. Let’s me eat as much of his kibble as I like.

Boss figures it out, and diverts me into the next room when she puts his bowl out, and for a day or two that's a stumper. Then it comes to me. The Trojan Horse. (That’s what dad called it, after mom told him, after boss told her. Yes, poodles understand English. Keep their expectations low, is my motto.)

I stand under Opie’s chest between his legs, his collie coat covering me, and match my stride to his when he walks into the kitchen. Not seeing me, boss leaves, and Opie steps aside: Ladies first. If only my tags hadn’t tinkled against the dish. Boss laughs as she chases me out of there. “What about your girlish figure?” What? Humans need to get their priorities in order.

After Opie inhales his lunch, he throws himself on the floor by the couch for a siesta. I jump down, stretch in downward facing dog, then spoon myself against his chest. Cat joins us. Why not? There’s nothing like a nice snooze in the heat.

When it cools off, we (just Opie and me, not Cat) play hide-and-seek, corner-the-chipmunk, find-the-corpse, and whatever else our noses lead us into in the bushes, weeds, and uncut grass. Pee and poop wherever, whenever. Heaven!

Boss bursts out laughing when we come in. “Look at your ears!” Now that she mentions it— I shake my head. And shake it again. No flapping. Where are they? What do I know from burdocks? A bush is a bush. One burry ear had flapped up, then the other, and now they are Velcro-ed to each other on top of my head. “Cute!” says boss.

She sits me on her lap to pick out burrs, one at a time. It hurts—those buggers don’t want to let go— but she’s the one muttering and grumbling. “Whenever you visit, I remember why I want a poodle. And why I don’t get one. Damn burdocks. If only you had fur instead of hair, they would slide right off. And only an hour before your mother gets here.”

If she hadn’t had a tight grip on one, both ears would have pricked up. The car is still on the road, not even in the driveway, when I start chasing my tail. I jump up on the windowsill, and watch it pull in. The car door opens— mom! I run to the door, and sit. Foot steps. Doorbell. Boss opens the door— Oh yay! Oh Happy Day! Mom! Mom! She squats down. I give her kisses, she give me hugs and Hello! I must be going! I run to the car without looking back. I jump on dad’s chest and lick his face. Bro scoops me up. When mom gets in the car— Group hug!

I am so happy, I don’t even mind mom tosses me in the tub first thing we get home. (I stink after a week at camp. Opie slobbers.) Hail! Hail! The pack’s all here!

**Published with permission of Poodle Times: Blogging by, for and about the poodle community. Poodle Times is a holey owned subsidiary of Shrink Unwrapped, produced by poodle-in-residence Poodle Oodle, written by Poodle Oodle, and edited by Poodle Oodle.