Hello! It’s me.

A quick update … here’s the 411 on the events of today.

Issue #1:  We begin the day with a “low tire pressure” message. After Dad cussed like a drunken sailor for ten or fifteen minutes, a gas station attendant pointed Dad to a Les Schwab Tire center 1.1 miles down the road, where the problem was solved within a half-hour (hint – it was a nail). After getting back in the car, Mom asked Dad how he would behave in the future during stressful situations. I giggled – it’s fun to see Dad humbled, #amirite?

Issue #2: 600 miles later, we pull into Tulare, CA and visit a Best Western (#petfriendly). For some reason, Dad says, and I quote “We’re getting in the lobby before that other car, there might only be one room left.” Dad pulls into a parking spot, runs to the lobby door, and then mysteriously opens the door for the lady in the other car. She waltzes through the door. She asks if there are any rooms available. The staffer says “You are in luck, there is only one room left.” Dad looks at the staffer and says, “Seriously?” The staffer says “Yes.” Dad says “But I just held the door open for that woman.” The woman looks at the staffer and says “I’ll take the room.”

Now, we finally got a room – on our sixth try at a sixth hotel – and that was the last room in the inn as well.

So here is what Dad wants me to ask you.

Quiz Question:  What should Dad have done in this situation? What is a responsible Christian solution to this problem?

(a) Dad should have opened the door for the woman and let the chips fall where they may … even if it meant Dad didn’t get the last room at the hotel.

(b) Dad should have walked into the hotel first (rudely impeding the woman who should have received a gentlemanly introduction into the hotel and thereby received first dibs on the final available room) and taken the room in an effort to “provide” for his family (aka “me”).

(c) Dad should have opened the door for the woman and then after learning that there was only one room left Dad should have thrown a fit and acted like a baby in an effort to acquire the room for his family, much like he did earlier this morning when greeted with a flat tire.

(d) Dad and Mom should have split a six-pack of Schlitz and then slept overnight in the car.

Leave your choice in the comments section.

Hello! It’s me!

If “up the tree to chase the squirrel” is heading south, then I am all for heading south.

So yesterday Mom says, “Come on little buddy, we’re headed south.” We leave our house … and then I sense that because movers were here the past two days taking our furniture and possessions I might be at risk of not revisiting my home again.

Mom says “no worries”.

We visit one of Mom’s friends. Let’s just say I wasn’t thrilled with my viewing angle.

Once I roused Mom and Friend out of the house, we were able to enjoy unusually nice summer weather.

Yup – these are warm days, #amirite?

Then we drive through Downtown Seattle, on our way to the hotel we were staying at.

We arrive.

I scream “Valet … Valet Anybody”?

I openly wonder whether this is a five-paw hotel, ’cause I’m not staying as some fleabag next to the K-Mart.

I sense this hotel meets my expectations … though I openly wonder what kind of pup is named “Marvin”? Maybe he is a Martian.

I suppose the high moment of the evening is when Mom went off to dinner and left me alone in the hotel room and I threw a fit and the staff at the hotel called Mom and told her to rescue me and Mom said “I’m eating dinner” and the staff said “well at least bring him down to spend time with us” and so Mom did that and I greeted new guests for an hour, give or take.

Pretty good stuff, eh? Credit goes to Aunt Sheila for the brilliant snaps.

Today we met Dad at the airport, and the family unit began our journey – we moved from the Pacific Northwest and we now head south toward our home in Arizona. We’re eating pico-guac chicken burgers in Central Oregon as we speak. Tomorrow it will be 100 degrees all up and down the West Coast – toasty weather for a drive south. Hopefully we will get to listen to some “Yacht Rock” on SiriusXm tomorrow – FM radio was sub-par today.

Hello! It’s me.

Well, I was floored by the news that we’re moving.

Yes. Moving.

To Arizona.

To the house we spent the spring in.

See, I got depressed. No Wendy. We came up north and I didn’t see here anywhere. I looked and looked … nothin’.

Dad and I had a chat. I asked, “How much more food would I have if we sold our house up north and moved down south?” Dad did the math and said “more than a thousand bags of kibble and several bags of crunchables (i.e. rawhide chewies)”. I said “Done, we’re outta here.”

Mom and Dad sold the house in two days to nice people who want it immediately. So we’re moving in less than two weeks. With luck, we’ll see Wendy somewhere on our way down south … but if we don’t see her, I’m giving up … she’s gone … she may have never existed in the first place. Or she did and I loved her dearly, whatever. She’s not here, and that’s all that matters, peeps.

Mom told me to figure out if there were any toys I wanted the movers to move. I said “all of ’em”!!

Then Mom said “No, pick a dozen or so” and I gave her the old-fashioned “Dashie Glare”.

You know what that look means, #amirite? That look means “Two dozen toys or we cancel the move.”

Dad says we cannot back out of a legally binding contract after earnest money has been deposited.

You know what I think of that?

Then I ransacked the toys in a fit of rage. That’s what happens when Wendy is nowhere to be found.

That’s when Mom told me to take a time out. and I obliged.

So we sold our house for at least a thousand bags of kibble. Sounds like a good deal to me. This week I get to stop and smell the roses … and smell the pee-mail … then the following week, we begin our adventure as we head south back to our Arizona home.

P.S.: Mom says there’s no way she’s gonna sit and tolerate 115 degrees a day every day for 10 weeks, so one might theorize that some quality RV time is in the offing …

Hello! It’s me!

As I reflect upon the past year, I wonder to myself – was Wendy yet another classic example of Fake News? Did the Russians plant her “story” in my timeline so that I’d focus on her and not focus on what is important, on what really matters?

Is that what happened?

Is it the Russians?

I broached the subject with my “community” over the past two weeks.

The answer? A resounding “go find The One Who Is In Charge”, and ask Her. They told me to go find the Grand Home, where I would find The One Who Is In Charge.

Hmmmm.

If I could only find this individual, this “unifier of all that is honest” and ask Her the question, well, maybe I could put Fake News aside and actually know what the 411 is.

The journey begins by imploring my Dad to visit the Grand Home of “The One Who Is In Charge”.

We stopped along the way to monitor threats.

Eventually we got lost … I asked a lonely Cervidae for directions.

Cervi told me to consider visiting The House in the Meadow … there, I might find The One Who Is In Charge.

Hours later, we arrived at The House in the Meadow.

Someone’s knockin’ at the door …

… somebody’s ringin’ the bell.

Do me a favor … oh never mind, I’ll just go around back and see if I can get in that way.

Looks pretty quiet back here. I better search the grass some more.

Then I got distracted by leafy greens.

And while snacking on tall, leafy greens … it occurred to me that the filthy Cervidae may have been spreading Fake News as well … House in the Meadow … my goodness, how could I have fallen for that one? I mean, searching for The One Who Is In Charge, that makes logical sense … but looking for a House in the Meadow? Stupid, stupid me.

It’s a campaign of disinformation that attacks us from all directions, pups. We have to be vigilant, I’m telling you. Vigilant.

Hello. It’s me!!

On these freezing cold and clammy days of mid-May, the mind wanders … wanders toward thoughts of dear Wendy. And then, almost as if on schedule, this arrives in the mail.

Oh. M. G.

Here’s what I am supposed to look for.

Now how hard can that be to find, #amirite?

I’m literally bustin’ down doors to get outside and find Wendy. I ask the neighborhood what they’ve heard … here’s our conversation (please visit the website if the video does not emulate via email).

We didn’t get very far with that conversation.

So I asked Dad to take me into town. I looked. I searched. I researched threats.

Just rusted metals, pups.

I freaked out when I thought I saw Wendy.

Ok, not Wendy.

I stealthily monitored another canine.

Not Wendy.

I pondered injuring my back by waltzing down the stairs to see if Wendy awaited at the bottom … but no, not on this day.

On this gloomy, cloudy, damp, dank, clammy mid-May day, my thoughts turned to Wendy … a lovely young lady who only asks me to find her. And find her I will!

Hello! It’s me.

I didn’t need a Sherpa in order to scale Mt. Feldspar … in fact, I overcame a mini-avalanche (look right below my right rear leg to see the carnage) just before approaching the summit.

Oh if you could only see the view from up here!

Hello. It’s me!!

That’s from my BHF (Best Human Friend) Katie – it’s really satisfying when a large provider of satellite music plays a relevant song from the 70s, #amirite?

The six presets say something too. All aboard!!!

Anyway, a few days ago we picked up Mom and she let me sit on her lap while we floated on two different ferries that took us home.

After about twenty-seven hours of travel and two ferries and four traffic jams and a bunch of podcasts that I’d prefer we didn’t listen to (mostly because if we’re gonna listen to a podcast it should be DogCast Radio … yes it exists, #subscribeviaitunes), we arrived at our front door. And I’m like … “open the door, and lemme in!!”

Once Mom opened the door, it was off to the dining room table … how ’bout some din-din Pops?!

After being properly supped, I wanted to see a dear friend, a neighbor. When we were here in December we spent some quality time surveying the landscape.

Today my friend Zoey ran down the steps and bolted straight into the house. And who could blame her? I was like a pot of gold at the end of a canine rainbow.

Doesn’t 54 degrees and rainshowers look absolutely … well … hmmm … um … ugh?

We spent a few minutes catchin’ up. Why are you pottying on that plant? Have you seen Wendy? What is wrong with your tongue?

And then as soon as Zoey was here, she was gone.

But not forgotten.

I’m vigilant if I may be so bold. Should Zoey bolt back down the stairs and arrive full of vim and vigor at the front door, I’ll be ready. I’ll open the door … and I will let her in!

Hello! It’s me.

That’s what it looks like when it is 91 degrees in Central California.

This is what it looks like when it is in the 60s in Central Oregon.

We’ve traded this …

… for this …

And all of these temperature swings leave me feeling like this.

Tomorrow, I arrive at home. No more looking behind semi-trucks for an opportunity to go potty, #amirite?

Hello! It’s me.

That’s me – lookin’ at Pops as he says we’re about to go on an adventure. I say “what kind of an adventure?” He says we’re driving north. I say “how far away is north?” and he says “oh, 23 hours” and I say “oh, that’s too far away”, #amirite?

It’s not that I’m chicken to sit in the car for twenty-three straight hours. I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever I’m told to do, ’cause simply put I don’t have control over my life.

So I hunkered down for almost four hours … then we stopped here.

And next thing you know we’re looking for the predecessor of the Chicken.

That thing has ribs stickin’ out … it might want to consider eating a half dozen forests, give or take.

I looked back at Dad and said, “that thing is related to a Chicken?”

I was afraid (some would say ‘chicken’) of having that beast step on me … my rib cage might be injured if that happened.

Dad stopped at Burger King – guess what he ordered? Yup, a grilled ‘chicken’ sandwich.

After sharing a modest amount of the sammie, I threw a fit … tossing toys all over the back seat of the car. But Dad said we had another 199 miles to drive. I hunkered down. And hours later, in the dark, we arrived in Bakersfield. I surveyed my room for threats.

With the only threat being a $15 pet fee, I decided to relax with Dad and enjoy playoff basketball.

Dad has a 6:30am business call … I’m not afraid to get up early and support the family … I’m certainly not chicken either, am I?

Hello. It’s me!

That’s how I am usually forced to sit in the front seat while Pops drives me around. But Dad says we’ve got a 1,500 mile trek to make in 2.5 days next week, so he says we need comfort.

Here’s his version of comfort … not too shabby, #amirite?

So even though it was 103 degrees at 6:00pm, Dad said we had to test-drive the $17 Wal-Mart everyday low-priced backseat bed. Fine with me! Dad drove about five miles until he found me some grass. Then we started walking. The best part? Clouds!

You don’t see those things very often.

Down the street, I could hear the Sugar Hill Gang playing on powerful 12,493 watt speakers. I told Dad to head in that direction.

As we approached the Tex-Mex restaurant, I heard Dad say “Mister”.

I just looked at him and said, “Don’t be so formal. Call me Dash“.

Dad just pointed to the sky and said, “No, there’s a mister over the tables.”

Ah!

Is there any better way to eat nacho chips than outside on a 103 degree evening with a light spray of water saturating the patrons?

I don’t think so.

On our way back to the car, we saw this …

Which made me think of this, from late this afternoon.

7% humidity … is that even possible?