Charlie sneaks a nap on top of two beds before heading to Camp Bow Wow.

It’s funny the silly routines we fall into when we think no one is watching.

It’s a different story when we have to explain ourselves.

That’s where Matt found himself when we was dropping off Lexie and Charlie for a weekend stint at Camp Bow Wow. I had provided a careful script about how to feed Lexie.

It involves pouring a can of chunky holistic senior dog food into a bowl, smothering it with vitamin gravy, carefully placing two dog treats in the volcanic pile, followed by the most important part.

You need to stay by Lexie’s side the whole time and repeatedly point at her food while saying, “Eat your nummies! Eat your nummies!” Sadly, for a 14-year-old pup in renal failure, this charade is necessary. If we didn’t do this every time, I swear she would forget to eat.

When Matt returned from Camp Bow Wow, I quizzed him, asking if he remembered all the details. He assured me he had.

“Did you tell them to say ‘Eat your nummies!’?” I asked.

He had gracefully sidestepped the actual “nummy” language, but said she needed constant encouragement while eating.

Yes, this is our life. And this is our life on display. What seems normal behind closed doors, suddenly feels a bit more awkward once we have to say it out loud.

But as they say, the devil is in the details. And these details matter.

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