Radar's version of the North American ski tour

After we first left I posted an add on Craigslist that read the following:

"Worldly and sophisticated Pit bull-labrador mix in need of new, sane owners. I am a lovable, 13 year old dog that is very good at communicating my needs, wants, likes and dislikes even if you didn't ask. I enjoy obsessively chasing sticks, chewing on rocks and sitting in the window barking at the neighborhood cats. I need help getting in and out of trucks and if I overdue it I occasionally prefer to urinate in my bed. Most mornings I sleep in except on mornings when I don't and you'll be the first to know what type of morning it is when you are awoken by the most ear piercing bark. While my hips and knees have some wear and tear that has slowed down my get up and go, when loaded up with the right amount of aspirin and glucosamine I can still hang with the best of them. Just ask Ruby, the neighbors labrador, who was Queen Bee of the RV park in Victor, ID and she'll set you straight. But I am the softest, sweetest and best thing to come home to, just ask my current owners. So if you are tolerant, loving and live in a home without wheels please send inquiries to radardog@gmail.com."

I never got any responses but hey, it's the Obama era so there's hope, right? I am still not sure how I got into this predicament. I have heard them, my owners who I shall refer to from here on out as the Dream Crushers, talk about how they would have loved to go to Europe to do a big ski trip but that it wouldn't have been fair to leave me for so long. Hugh?? Come again?? Fair to leave me?? I'll tell you what, I can think of nothing better then to have been left at John's place in Molalla, OR where I have him so wrapped around my paw that he feeds me fresh turkey breast and lets me out off the leash, although I think those days are over due to the unfortunate time when I got overconfident, took off and ended up getting lost in Hicksville, USA. I realized then that I prefer my meals in a bowl, my water without algae and firearms to be seen and not heard. But that's a whole other story....

So I call them Dream Crushers because I was living the dream at Club 712. I had the comfort of several warm beds with a view of the neighborhood, two meals a day with the occasional treat depending on how much I was cashing in on the cute factor, and the couch all to myself on those nights when they forgot to put an obstacle on top of it. I didn't need to lift a paw. And then one day these two come along talkin smack about "living in a trailer" "going to places cold and snowy" blah blah blah and just like that they crush the dream. Next thing I know I am living in a cubicle that squeaks, shakes and only has one bed WITH NO VIEW! I wouldn't even treat a cat this way! At my most desperate moment, I even tried the whole dead weight routine like I've seen protesters do on TV refusing to leave Club 712 after it was all packed up. But they must have had flashbacks of me diving out of the second story window because they wouldn't leave me there alone. I knew that BASE jump would come back to haunt me someday.

It took a while to get used to not being able to see out of the windows of the trailer to survey my domain. One good trade off is that they raised the height of my bed in the back of the truck so now I can check out all the cattle while we drive which is way better then cats, I had no idea how much cattle was out there, and they heated it too which is downright luxurious. Every now and then we awake to these bombs going off all around us, mostly on days when there is more of that white stuff on the ground then there was the night before. I think they call them "avalanche bombs." Whatever they call them, these two blockheads don't even move!!! I am running for cover next to where the female Dream Crusher, the worst of them all, sleeps and they are actually excited about the bombing raid going on outside hurriedly pulling out these plastic boots and slippery sticks that they won't let me play with. Lunatics, I swear.

I do get walked a lot more and I suppose it's not a bad thing that I lost those few extra pounds I had gained around the holidays. But still I don't get to chew on frozen cat pooh like I used to find at home and I miss all the friends that would come over to scratch my ears like John, Toni, Ann, Jackie, Carol, Sorrel, Jim, Erica, Alex and Mike. 

I really thought I had reached my limit when I realized that sticks are scarce when this white, cold stuff is on the ground. Then I figured out the whole "powder day" thing and that changed everything. When we first left I noticed that days when the bombs would go off and they would pull out those plastic boots and slippery sticks they would say the words "powder day" a lot. These seemed to be the days when they would leave me in the trailer by myself. So I tried desperate measures to hinder their departure, things like blocking the exit, whining in the most annoying manner possible (think the scene from Dumb and Dumber when Jim Carey belts out the most annoyingly, high-pitched whine) and I even figured out how to make myself uncontrollably shake as a play for sympathy. None of these tactics worked, though, as they would still leave me behind. One day I decided to see what all the fuss was about so I ventured out on one of these "powder days" and one of the Dream Crushers made a ball out of the frozen, white stuff and throws it to me. Of course since I wasn't expecting it the frozen ball hits me in the face...what blockheads they are. But after a few coaxing words and a couple tries I realize I can chase after it like a stick only it's better then a stick because it is everywhere and my gums don't bleed from it! Now I love powder days! 

So I guess it's not all bad although I would still prefer to be back at Club 712. If it's any consolation I have heard them mention that we are going to Mexico and I love Mexico. I can't wait for my first powder day in Mexico! 

 

 

 

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