Disoriented

 

The compass points west.  It is disoriented, (or as we British are wont to say "disorientated").

Zion was disoriented beginning on Thursday of last week, when I took him to the Pet Resort which was to be his pad for a few days, as I went to and from Pittsfield MA for a Funeral.

It is a first class facility, and my dear Mr. Z was treated well.  But it was not his home.  He was disoriented.  He shredded his bed to bits.

Was he missing me?   I like to think so.  But maybe he was chiefly disoriented  because our daily and familiar routine was disturbed.

Those of us who share our lives with (cats and) dogs know that they are creatures of routine.

Zion and I were re-united  last Sunday afternoon.  

Of course we were pleased to see each other.  However it took a day or two for Z to realise that life had returned to normal.  It was not until Tuesday last that he was reoriented to our daily routine.

I understand.   

Last year I spent two weeks in a fine Bristol, U.K. Hotel as I took time to visit with my sibs, and many dear friends.  

The Hotel was fine.  My room was perfect. I had a super holiday.

But every day was challenging.  My familiar routine was impossible.

Why should I have expected that my dear and sweet Zion would have had unmitigated pleasure and stress free days at his temporary digs?