Hello. It’s me!

You travel nearly 6,000 miles following a trip where you traveled 4,000 miles (all within fifteen weeks), and you learn two things.

1. That’s 10,000 miles.
2. That’s exhausting!

Today, we began the transition to summer … gone are 60 degree days and grey skies and periodic showers … replaced by the blue skies and ample walking opportunities.

So Dad says “clean yourself up kid, we’re headed to town to do some chores.”

When we got to town, a family told us that we had to look for a pup named “Wendy”. We were told that “Wendy” looked just like me.

Alright – game on!

No sign of “Wendy” along the sidewalk.

I was easily distracted.

But Dad was focused on our mission. So we moved forward. I asked a gaggle of ladies in the middle of a crafting project if they could help me find “Wendy”?

No? Alright. I’ll do it myself. How about this one? Is “Wendy” in this gaggle of pups?

The overweight pup rebuffed me with extreme prejudice, maybe because I’m packin’ an extra pound myself.

I walked up the hill, and ran into this pup … is this “Wendy”?

I’m as inclusive as the next dog, but dude, that ain’t “Wendy”.

And then … in the distance … I see a pup who looks like me. I sprint down the street and introduce myself …

“I’m Dash”.

The pup looks at me … and says … “I’m Toby.”

Toby?

Toby is two years old, and was shaved, and that’s the excuse I’m giving for explaining why Toby looks so fabulous and I look so much like a pup that had a bit too much ham for lunch last week.

But as much as I like Toby from Monterrey, and trust me, I like Toby, Toby was not “Wendy”. Wendy is the kind of gal I could see myself sharing spaghetti with (#angelhair).

There would be no “Wendy” sighting on this beautiful late June afternoon. I know, I know, you think “Toby” and “Wendy” sound the same. Toby’s family told me they were informed of a “Wendy” as well.

So the search continues … for the elusive “Wendy”.

But first, a nap.