Hey pals, Ella here. Have you noticed that Mom and Dad never take me anywhere anymore? Ever since we moved back to Tennessee and close enough to my human grandparents (and birth mom), they leave me behind more often than not when they travel. It blows.
So when I heard they were going to north Georgia, just a stone’s throw from our home, for a wedding at a PET-FRIENDLY resort, I put my paw down. I mean, a) I’ve already been to Barnsley Resort before. Who better to show them the ropes than this six-pound navigator? Not to mention, b) see first paragraph. I never go anywhere outside of my Middle Tennessee domain, so I was overdue for a vacation.
Besides, how would Mom, being a mere homonid (yeah, I had to look it up to), properly review a resort that caters to fur beings without my help? I think we all agree my voice needs to be heard more around these parts anyway.
(And I didn’t even invoice her after writing this post either, as there were pork chops for dinner. Quid pro quo, I believe is what you humans call it.)
So Barnsley. My first visit was way back in 2011 when I was still a pup. I can’t claim to remember much of it at all as I’m told my species only has the capacity to keep a memory for 30 minutes. Or is it an hour? I don’t know, I forget.
Anyway, I went down with my grandmother and my fur mom for a business convention and wiled away the hours on the porch of my own Downing-style cottage. Barnsley knows its guests and their humans ought to be treated like royalty, and so they do just that.
My second stay over this weekend might have even topped my first. To start, I was with Mom and Dad, and they’re pretty decent folk…as far as humans go. Second, we had a pretty sick suite (which was one half of a cottage). Check out my digs.
Third, the kind folks at the resort left me a friend!
So when Mom and Dad left me to go clay shooting for the morning, I had company and wasn’t quite as sad.
He doesn’t talk much, but I wear the pants in
most all relationships anyway, so this was a match made in heaven.
Barnsley Resort is a member of the Southern Living Hotel Collection, one of those silly magazines Mom reads and writes for, and as such, it’s deep-rooted in Southern tradition, hospitality and history. Or so says that nice chap Clent Coker, the resident historian who runs the estate’s museum and took us on a tour of the grounds and gardens. I was SUPER STOKED because for once, they didn’t leave me behind!
He told Mom and Dad all about Barnsley’s fascinating 200-year history—but then I may have gotten distracted watching for squirrels or accidentally dozing off from the back of his golf cart. Mom says she’ll fill you in on what she learned later; I say just pick up a copy of Clent’s book, Barnsley Gardens at Woodlands: The Illustrious Dream, instead. (Then give me the highlights reel because I actually can’t read, which may surprise the lot of you.)
The best part of Barnsley was that they treated me like royalty, as well they should. I’ve visited other pet-friendly properties in the past that treated members of the nation within as if we were mere pests. Hardly. Barnsley treated me like the VIP that I am.
Thank you, Barnsley Resort, for rocking our experience in Georgia. You can bet I’ll be back as quickly as I can (as soon as I learn how to drive a car, that is…it’s a pretty far walk from Tennessee when you’re this low to the ground).
You get two paws up from me.