Oh this is gonna be great, gonna be great, great, great. Or as my noble forefathers on the Emerald Isle used to say before hitting the open road, "May the cat eat you and the devil eat the cat." The boys and the Mistress are excited as well. Master is a little harder to read but he did scruff me behind the ear as he headed outside to load the Caprice Estate wagon with a cooler of caffeine free diet Cokes and that dreamy BYU picnic blanket. When it's folded on the divan in the foyer and the mid-morning sun hits it just so, I leap onto its spongy, woolen warmth, pad and circle once, twice, then curl myself tight, my own sun-warmed haunches the best pillow in the world. Louis XIV's Papillion Spaniels never had a more comfortable perch from which to nap.
Seamus! Hello? Pull your head out of the clouds. Fetch your rawhide and perhaps that rubber hamburger. Everyone's carrying something, and not just the help, into the mighty wagon. Sure it's a domestic auto, not like Mr. Fenpecker's Mercedes 300 or the new Range Rover that bitch Drambuie parades around in, but that's exactly the point. Fancy foreign cars are for arrivistes and/or Jews.
What's Master doing with my crate? He looks so powerful and handsome hoisting it onto the roof, not even one raven lock out of place. Perhaps he's using my carrier as additional storage for our trip. He could have asked, but no matter. They have Consuela feed me and Pedro brush my magisterial auburn locks. This is the least I can contribute to our voyage.
"Canada! Next stop Canada!" he cries out and the five boys jostle inside, me too, till Master's firm hand on my collar surprises. Why on earth is he gesticulating toward the automobile's roof?
I get it! An adventure! I love adventure! I coil myself, plan my line of attack, then leap to the roof, scramble up the windshield and I'm in! Such a beautiful day! I pity the boys stuck inside below me on such a day almost as much as I pity the poor street mutts I see sniffing garbage cans on the way to Dr. McGills. His treats are divine!
We're off! What a thrill! The wind in my muzzle. The open road. Why it's just like sticking my head out the car window... when they used to let me ride inside the car with them. I wonder if this Canada is down by the Saltonstall's, or maybe the other side of the country club. Past the clay courts there is a little Carpathian Sheepdog who makes me just howl. We couldn't breed of course, that just wouldn't do, however I can quite literally smell her from here...
... Whoa! You'd think one of the most affluent communities in Massachusetts would have fewer patches of appallingly uneven pavement. Still, this will make quite a jolly story for the boys back at the dog run. And who needs A/C with such a steady breeze!
... We passed the club ages ago. I've never seen a motorway so straight or so desolate. No commerce lining the road, just the odd signage and a dizzying blur of trees. And the speed! It is thrilling, in its own way, I guess, but it is perhaps getting a tad tedious the incessant vibration, the shielding my face with my forepaws from this perpetual, seventy-mile-an-hour wind tunnel. Perhaps Master is testing me for space flight?
... I try to bark but as soon as I open my muzzle I choke on this shrieking, demon, damnable wind...
... I can no longer feel my hindfeet, thighs nor stifles...
... Unconsciousness, such sweet relief come quick! I pray they remember me fondly. At least a jolly sound plays me off this mortal coil for I hear them all below me through the feverish whining road whistle, like a choir of giggly angels: "High on a hill was a lonely goatherd. Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo..." Always... loved... the Von Trapps...
... Where am I? We've stopped! I'm alive! But what's this? Good God I've befouled myself. And the crate and the wagon itself. I'm so ashamed. Stand back as you open the gate Master. My motor function is still a tad tenuous and I wouldn't want to soil your Dockers.
... Bless you for hosing me off, for saving me! My shaking is better now. Oh I get it, the ride was some sort of jocular hazing for admission into your familial Porcellian or Skull and Bones. Jolly good! As Fritzy, my German Shepherd friend likes to say, "Was mich nicht umbringt macht mich starker." (" What doesn't kill you... ") So glad that's over but now I guess I really am just another one of your boys.
... So this Citgo station is Canada? Regardless, I feel I am fully recovered. But could I trouble you, Master, or should I call you "dad" now, for a drink of water and some jerky? No? Back in the wagon? Well then please open the tailgate because obviously I couldn't be expected to... No I understand that you keep pointing up to the crate but surely you can't be seri...? The gas station attendant's Chihuahua-terrier mix over there, nosing through a discarded pizza box wouldn't expect such treatment... No, you don't have to manhandle my collar, can't we discuss this further? If I'm too wet for the wagon's interior perhaps wrap me in the BYU blanket? Chihuahua! Help! Help! We're on the same side! I understand that now! Rally all the rest! Dogs of the world unite! ¡HASTA LA VICTORIA SIEMPRE!
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