It’s road tripping season in our family, and, of course, for our dog!
This year, it’s a five-hour-trip—and just to the first stop—and our Bindi is not happy about it.
At first, she was anxious to get out of the house and claim her rightful place—that is, in the car—and spent the first, oh, two minutes of the time (which was spent navigating our seat adjustments and driving, very slowly, out of our driveway) with her head on my lap in the backseat, licking my arm.
Of course, when she wanted to get off my lap—oh, well, that was a different story.
Everybody in our household knows that, even though we love each other, my dog and I don’t generally get along very well.
Well, we like to spend time with each other, don’t get me wrong, but things tend to… end badly… to say the least.
I play with her, groom her, take her for walks, and then, I pull her tail. Just for fun, of course, to have a little puppy fun.
Unfortunately, Bindi is now middle-aged (that’s five, for those of you that don’t know my doggie dialect), and quite, well… there’s no other way to describe it but proper.
And, like any sane creature, after a few tail pulls, ear grabs, and paw pokes, she gets annoyed. Thankfully, she’s one of what we think of as the calmest dogs on Earth, and she manages to keep her temper and walk idly away from the chaos.
Well, you’d imagine how it would be like when we get cooped up together in the back of a small, silver Prius, her on one side, trying to get as far as doggishly possible from me yet still be comfortable (not possible) and me trying to get her to be as close to me as doggishly possible… well, you can see that.
And so when I finally get bored of bothering her, possibly reading my book or sticking my camera into other peoples’ faces (thank the squirrels I’m gone from her adorable face!), she gets BORED, with a capital B.
She sits. She sticks her head out the window when we open it for her. She circles and scrunches up the blanket, contorts herself into all types of crazy weird positions, and finally settles down in her favorite position—body curled up, head on the armrest.
And so she waits.
And sometimes she whines. But she knows that Mother shall not tolerate whining, and so she stops. And is anxious to escape this prision of a car at any gas station, bus stop, or park she can find.
And when we finally reached the hotel? Boy, you should’ve seen her tail wag! I thought it was going to fall right off!
Oh, well. I think she and I are bonding over the chips I’m dropping, anyways!
Did I forget to mention we arrived at the hotel, like, RIGHT NOW?
<< PART I PART III >>