Wrinkly Bits
A Blog by Cody, the Wonder Dog
Good grief, don’t they ever stay home? I live with this weird family. They never tell me what’s going on, but a few months ago, they brought a tree into the house, which was perfect, as far as I’m concerned. It was cold and somebody put white stuff outside that hid everything including my favorite bush. It was higher than me, but they fixed it and brought a tree into the house, so I could do my thing right here in the house, which was very convenient, I didn’t get my ding-a-ling cold. But don’t tell them.
They took the tree out of the house, and things were back to normal, but then, they packed the truck. I watched to see what they took. Usually, they take a cup of water and a biscuit for me, and I know we’ll be gone only a little while, back before dark, but this time, they packed everything. Big boxes that they put clothes in, those writing contraptions, another big box with food in it, a bag of food for me, and a whole bunch of blankets in the backseat of the truck, which were for me as well. The yard had disappeared under a white blanket again and my paws got little chunks of ice in them, which I could easily enough pull out but I had to be careful that I didn’t bite myself. The guy with the hat said I was a good dog or good puppy, whatever that means, probably something about his mood. He says that a lot. The other person, who also wears a hat, tried to get me to sit on her lap, but it’s lumpy, so I resist.
We drove for a long time, maybe five days and I slept most of the time. They listened to something that came out of the front of the truck, a story or music or something. I didn’t understand one word of it. We stopped when it got dark and those nights I slept on the bed, which meant we didn’t have the nightly crate ceremony. The crate ceremony looks like this. I sit and look at the guy with the hat. He doesn’t pay much attention, but then I lead him into my room with my crate. He yaks the whole walk about a good puppy, such a good dog. Then, he locks the crate and gives me a treat. He thinks the locked crate keeps me from wandering around at night, but he’s wrong, because it keeps them out of my area, and I can be safe for the night.
We got up early and went outside and got back in the truck and the guy with the hat gave me good food, usually with a piece of bacon or ham. Or whipped cream. Wow, was that ever good! The other one likes to give me peanut butter biscuits. Phluughy. I have my standards and I spit them out.
We stayed at this house where which was surrounded with scary water. Water is to drink, not play in or anything else. I wish they knew that. Once, I saw an iguana. Boy, could he run, but he raced into the water, so I couldn’t follow him. I ran around a lot so the girl with the hat couldn’t catch me which made her really mad. It was fun. I counted the days, about 30 or something like that. They got a boat. Uh-oh. I knew this was trouble. I begged for the crate ceremony, but they were set on a boat and we went out. I hid under the feet of the guy with the hat. It was scary, like trying to stand on a big bowl of Jello.
So, we finally got home, and I chased around the yard like 100 times. The hat guy told me I was a good dog, and that night we did the crate ceremony. We were back to normal. She gave me another cracker, this one was sour, lime or something. Won’t she ever learn?
I’ve traveled a lot, more than most dogs and it makes me happy, as long as I stay away from the water and the peanut butter treats. ARF.
