Today I had to go for a grocery trip. I had to weigh on what to do with Drew. Either tie him up in the yard, let him loose in the house, or take him along in the back of the truck.
It seemed that solitude was the worst condition so I loaded him up in the truck.
The truck bed is cozy. It’s got a topper and I had already lined the bed with carpet and padding. I threw in his usual bed, a cardboard box with a blanket, and his favorite toys.
Many friends of mine guide their dogs into their vehicle with a simple gesture. The dog gleefully jumps in with anticipation of an adventure or the opportunity to thrust its face out a window into the breeze.
No gesture would guide him, he wasn’t going in. I climbed in the truck, leash in hand, trying to coax him in with surefire toys. No avail. A friendly passerby assisted and lifted him in. He stood steady and I closed him in.
I drove on periodically checking his status. A steady flow of drool oozing from his mouth the whole trip. He seemed to be doing fine despite the constant salivation, but half-way through the trip he blew chunks of doggie chow. The ride was shaking his nerves.
Had to scratch the plan to take him on a trail and got him a pig ear at the last grocery stop. The pig ear was my brother’s idea. (“Thanks bro!”)
He was pretty shook up when we got home. I unpacked the groceries, cleaned the truck, and threw him the pig ear. He instantly went into some kind of euphoria, savoring and chomping. I thought it would last for days, but he annihilated it within fifteen minuets.
A dried pig ear is like doggie crack.
A friend of mine had to take a family trip despite a series of unfortunate events. One of which left him without the family van and no room for thier young golden labrador, Drew.
I spent yesterday patching up the fence around my yard. Although I havn’t had any pets, past residents have, so it was relatively easy to get the yard dog ready.
I couldn’t have expected a better dog. He’s potty trained and hasn’t barked at anything or anyone yet.
After a full day of ball chasing, stick chomping, hole digging and fly catching, the puppy is pooped.
The recent bus crash on Capitol Hill brought to mind a fond memory from my cab driving days in Seattle back in the mid 90’s.
It wasn’t in the winter and it wasn’t exactly at this location. It was a clear night on a street several blocks north where you have to make a sharp left turn in a similar position to overpass across Interstate 5.
I could measure up passengers blocks ahead and I knew these three guys were shady, but it was a dead night and I was desperate for a fare. I picked them up at a grocery store on the north side of Broadway and one of them gave me a vague location.
“Downtown” in a shaky voice. It sealed the deal, I knew these dudes were about to roll me. At that moment they bought a ticket on my own personalized hell ride.
I continued north and hung a left on East Roy St., cranked up some heavy grunge/metal on the radio and started hauling ass down a steep and narrow Belmont Avenue East whizzing through parked cars with inches between to arrive at a high-G 90° left turn maneuver onto Lakeview Boulevard East. It looked like we were about to fly off the edge into Lake Union but we would have ended up like the bus pictured above. When I reached the stoplight at the bottom of Lakeview they confessed and exited my cab.
I had ran this route racing to fares many times before but the opportunity to scare the shit out of fraudulent passengers was a great payoff.