Strong Love, at our house. My job is "dog wrangler."
During the two days of shooting last week I made myself scarce and took Boz to Burbank for play dates. But at 4:30 in the afternoon it's time for Boz to eat. Dinner has to happen because he's got a tummy like a clock. I could take kibble with me in the car, right? Not exactly. This puppy is 14 years old, with a gastrointestinal system like a 19th century sewer. He gets hamburger with his pills. So I brought him home for meals.
After dinner and a long walk, Boz and I closed ourselves in my office and he napped while I worked. Sometimes, between shots, we'd take a break. Dogs just have to be in the middle of things. I don't think he even liked it but he had to be there. (Thus the need for a dog wrangler.)
Two more days of shooting are set to happen in a couple of weeks. That's bonding time for the dog wrangler and her pal.
Be sure and vote before midnight tonight for your favorite of this past week's entries in the Camelot Where You Are photo contest! (Poll at upper left.)