My dog had an interview today. Seriously. No bull.

We were required to arrive at 7:45 a.m. (A little early for my tastes, but ... whatever.) We pulled into the lot of Camp Bow Wow at 7:40, and were surprised to see that the place was already bustling. From the tight ship they were running, it seemed they had been going for hours - long before Guapo had licked my daughter's face and well before I'd slid him into the middle seat of my crossover vehicle like some kind of hairy little toddler.

The facility's exterior was unassuming, but it belied the glorious doggie heaven that is the inside of Camp Bow Wow. We waited among the Shepherds and Daschunds, Boxers and Terriers -- but they were already where we wanted to be: "in."

You see, Guapo was seeking admission into one of the most exclusive of area doggie day camps and boarding facilities. It's sort of like the Brown University of boarders -- you know, not quite Harvard, but still expensive enough to allow us to look down on lesser dogs. Getting into said program is not as simple as you may think. It required much more than just calling, weighing and proving vaccinations. It all started with a three-page application.

The subsequent process involved several phases:

1. Meet the Directors - We were greeted by management who proceeded to feel Guapo up like he was hiding a balloon full of crack somewhere in his digestive tract.

2. Alpha Male - Guapo was put in a room alone. The directors introduced a male of similar size to him to see how he'd react. He didn't.

3. Freaky Deekie - The male was escorted back to his pen, and the directors brought a female of Guapo's size (actually, twice his size) into his bed chambers. Again, nothing. (Though, I think in this case he was simply playing hard-to-get.)

4. Menage a Trois - The trio was then taken to the play area where they proceeded to frolic in the sunrise. Actually, the other two frolicked. Guapo ran in retarded little circles until he was overcome with dizziness and simply sat, exhausted, on the AstroTurf.

Finally, the directors came out with their report: Guapo gets to stay for Phase 5 of this house party. I was politely asked to leave for a minimum of 3 hours as the staff monitored his play habits with up to 8 dogs at a time (gratis, of course).

I left my fourth child at Camp Bow Wow this morning. I was given nothing more than the Web address through which I could monitor his behavior on streaming video (and I have, much much more than I expected to).

Now, lunch time can't get here soon enough. Keep your fingers crossed. Guapo really needs this gig. We want him to have his own little "Cheers," you know? A place where everybody knows his name, and they're always glad he came.

UPDATE: Guapo was deemed worthy!

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It has recently come to my attention that I'm not very productive at my nine-to-five. This harsh fact was brought to my attention by a good friend - and co-worker - who has noticed my half-hearted attempts at looking busy. What she calls half-hearted, I prefer to call by a more accurate moniker: apathetic. In other words, I no longer give a damn.

You know where my mind is, right? You know that dimly lit, musty mental place in which you can't really think of a good reason to keep pretending to care about your J.O.B.? You know, when you show up late for work and no longer bother to call in and say, "Hey, a delivery truck ran into a city bus which ran into a mustang-toting trailer on my route, so I'm running a little late" OR "You know, I thought I had the mumps this morning, but I'm over it. See you after lunch!"

That's where I am. I mean, they're lucky to get a "My morning toilet time ran a little longer than I planned" or a "What? It's not like you really expected me to be on time."

I have resorted to using the following techniques to entertain myself as I wait for the imaginary bell to signal the time to activate voice mail and log out of this ankle bracelet they call a computer. (Like Big Brother really needs to know how I voted on the Lindsay Lohan vs. Gabrielle Union "Who Wore It Best" online smackdown!):

1. Reading a book from the pull-out supply drawer in my desk. (Once you've read the first [insert Sookie Stackhouse, Twilight, Dan Brown novel here] book, you can't stop until you've read 'em all!)
2. Booting up my laptop next to my work computer. (Why should I do freelance work on my own time? That's just working hard, not smart.)
3. Making my next to-do list during meetings. (I have a list of lists I need to make. Help me.)
4. Searching for things on Craigslist. (I'm going to need something at some time, and I will expect it to cost between a minimum and maximum dollar amount.)
5. Taking extended bathroom breaks. (I can SO get facebook on my phone in the John. Sweet!)

And, yes. There are more. But, I'm sure you're so busy judging me that you don't have time to read on.

I know the economy is slowly recovering, but I'm not oblivious to the fact that there are thousands of people right now praying the government extends their unemployment benefits so that they can continue enjoying creature comforts like, I don't know ... sustenance. I'm grateful for that direct deposit on the 15th and the last. It always signals Wine Buying Day, and that's my favorite holiday of all.

However, there has got to be more than this. And there is. I try to remind myself daily of something that Mr. Do-Right said to me after my first month at this job. I was wracked with self-pity after my "boss" excoriated me for writing like I "don't know what I'm talking about." (She told me a month later that my writing is "exquisite." Hmph!) He said, "Remember why you're there." So, at times like these, when I start sending out Evites to my annual pity party, I try to remember why I'm doing this. I want to be able to give my children the things that make them smile. I want to be able to have a girls night out or spend New Year's Eve in a cabin with some of my closest friends. I want to be able to fill my gas tank up, and not just stop at $10. I want to be able to open my refrigerator and have choices. I want to be able to give to people who need it, and throw a little away on something ridiculous like a Salad Spinner or a Snuggie.

And, of most import to my readers, I want to be able to spend a night with my favorite man, eating something sinfully cheesy and sharing a bottle of some bad-ass vino. Salud!

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