This meant my dad would have to be my pet sitter. Anyone who knows my father knows that he has his own unique way of doing things and viewing the world. What this translates into for me is how I deal with things and see things is not how he sees things. He is, to put it bluntly, not the most reliable person around the animals. So with butterfly's in my stomach I left my treasured animals in his care and drove off. The sight in my rear view mirror was of him holding Reba's collar to keep her from following me.
When I came home it was to a suspiciously stinky dog, (Tessa is a consummate manure roller.) and all animals with intact limbs. My fears and worries were for naught as everything seemed to have survived their stint in his care. (And yes, I did thank him...)