I gave yesterday's ending dream a trial run today. Put some old blankets over the back seat of my truck, collared the dog and loaded her in, then took off up the road. I'm south of the Interstate. Due north is a little podunk farm town that probably would have dried up by now if it wasn't for the occasional weary traveler who pulls off for gas, a cheap bite, or even a night at the fleabag hotel. Well, I haven't stayed at the hotel so that might be an unfair characterization.
Anyways, I cracked the back passenger window down a bit and hit the road. It's about 3 miles of farmland and then 5-7 miles of rangeland to this town. By rangeland what I mean is a washed-out basin several hundred miles long and wide of exposed basalt, scoured by a flood that scientists say held 10 times all the water in all the rivers on earth today. That's a lot of water. Trying to visualize this is well nigh impossible. But drive through this country, mile after washed out mile, and you'll begin to get an inkling of its staggering immensity.
The gas station fortunately has lattes, so it's my version of Starbucks. There are two Starbucks within driving range, but they're both another 22 miles away, in opposite directions. With the price of gas being what it is, I'll pay extra for my little Chevron latte. They also carry the daily newspaper, which is my other daily vice. Only it isn't printed daily. The regional paper doesn't print on Mondays, Tuesdays, or Saturdays. I really didn't foresee my dotage existing without being able to minutely scrutinize the stats in the sports page each morning. That's a huge cultural shift for me.
The dog did okay but at both that stop and a short one at the downtown grocery, when I came out, she was sitting in the driver's seat. I didn't even wait until I got in. I just hollered from the sidewalk, "Get out of my seat!" and re-iterated that statement in forceful dog lingo when back in the truck cab. (sometimes I just growl at her -- it's a quicker, easier form of communication)
All in all, it went pretty well. Tomorrow we'll head into my old hometown, 17 miles due east. I should visit my mom and dad's graves on the other side of town, but I don't trust the dog. I could put a collar on her and a leash but, you know, pooping on somebody's grave is probably not good karma, even for an innocent like a dog, so she'll stay in the truck there as well.
We'll keep extending these excursions. I tried to take her for a walk out in the stubble fields yesterday but she took off running like a demented deer. Long sprints and jumps. Let's just say she didn't stay close. I had to take her back to the house and do the walk alone. Steve hasn't trained her to stay close yet. Not sure if he will.
I took her down to the creek once and she immediately jumped in and happily lay down in the mud. In that instance, I took her home, put on my swimsuit, and carried her into the walk-in shower in the utility room. She tried hard to scramble away but I got her on her back and spun her around a few times, after which she nobly surrendered to her ignoble fate. After she was dry, I had to take my own shower! Now tell me again, why do I want a dog?
I'm practicing, I guess, for eventual dog ownership. We'll see if I pass the tests.
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