We left the small dog with my sister recently. I provided over-detailed notes and a laundry list of the needs of the creature: her medicines, feeding requirement, the emergency contacts, how far she is accustomed to walking, and a brief Snort-to-English lexicon to explain which noise means "I gotta go out!" versus the vocalization that means she requires to be tucked into bed with her down coverlet, now please.
(Sue me. She's the thing upon which I lavish my foolish attention, okay?)
My sister is good with children and dogs. Bless her heart, on this matter anyhow, she kept any judge-y, judge-y opinions she might have had to herself, and I swanned off to a regatta in Miami with a sense of calm.
That's my little con-artist –– always working the angles!
I used to believe that dogs did not actually lie. They tell their truths, I used to think.
My friend SJL (squee! book deal! details to follow!), a seasoned owner of a small dog, assured me that perhaps they don't fib, but they do exaggerate.
When the dog tells me that she's starving –– grunt! grunt! grunt! –– there's probably a grain of truth. And if she insists on trying to convince the babysitter that she regularly gets a second dinner –– well, she might just be right.