The hound and I attended a conference for work today, which was held at a nice Embassy Suites hotel near the airport. It went well. The rain had mostly stopped, so I didn’t walk in to a room full of strangers with a smelly wet dog, which was a relief.
He did, of course, stink things up on his own once I positioned him beneath the table…which was a laughable occurrence (at least for me) because my roommate was remarking just last night that Lomax has been quite mild on the gas-o-meter for the last several days. So much for that. Problem was mostly solved, however, when I put him in a “down stay” in the corner of the room. His occasional stretches, yawns and Lab-trademarked sighs were met with the usual lower-lip-out, head-tilted, silent “awwwwwwwww” faces from my more dog-centric co-workers. Good times.
Anyway, as we left the session for a little walk around the center court of the hotel’s lower level — which was decorated with nifty ponds complete with koi, turtles and ducks (!) — I noticed there was a glass elevator.
So I took him right in (he’s quite accustomed to solid elevators) and pushed the button corresponding to the fifth and highest floor. And as the doors shut and the elevator moved up, I had a very brief moment of panic, which went a little something like this:
“IDIOT! WHY DID YOU PUSH THE FIFTH FLOOR BUTTON? WHAT IF HE FREAKS OUT? BARKING OR WHINING OR PEEING FOR FIVE FLOORS COULD HAVE BEEN BARKING OR WHINING OR PEEING FOR ONE FLOOR!”
It was then I looked down to observe Lomax reacting as he seems to react to just about anything: with head held high, tail wagging and a goofy, tongue-out smile.