It's not often I get to hit the road with the family, but every now and then, I get to ride farther than dog camp. Usually when the fam spends a lot of time packing bags and bringing random things up out of the basement to stack in the dining room staging area, that means bad news for me . . . a stay in the pokey. They say things like, "You'll be fine. You love dog camp, and you'll get to hang out with your friends every day!" Right. Just to be clear, it ceases to be dog DAYcare if you have to spend the night. And I know from watching TV with Big Brother what real sleep away camp is supposed to be like. The pokey ain't it. So when this week started last Sunday, I figured it was lining up to be one of those weeks.
Imagine my surprise when our fully loaded truck headed down the road with me in it and didn't stop after the usual short hop to dog camp. I knew there was still a chance, though, so I sat nervously awaiting my fate. We did this in the spring, too, and when we were about 5 minutes past dog camp, and I was starting to settle in, Mom nearly shouted, "Oh crap! We forgot to drop off Gus!" Whomp whomp.
But when that didn't happen this time, I settled in for the ride. After a while, Mom looked at me and said to Dad, "Well, at least he didn't throw up this year." This year? Did we do this last year, I wondered? I didn't really remember, but of course, I was just a pup this time last year. About that time, we came upon an accident that had the interstate all locked up, so we got off to dodge around it. "Oh, yes!" Dad cheered, as he sped off down cotton field-lined country roads, bumping us along with him, swinging us around the bends. "I used to love driving on roads like this back home!"
Speaking of being sick, I thought, and I started licking my chops and yawning, which are my two telltale "I'm gonna heave" signs. "Oh, no," Mom said ominously. She's good at picking up on my signs. "I think he's gonna throw up."
"Not to worry," Dad said. "We'll just pull over and get his feet on the ground. That will fix him right up. It always cured my car sickness when I was a kid."
Mom took a good look at her map app and told Dad to be on the lookout for a church on the right.
"On a Sunday morning?" Dad asked tentatively. "You really think that's a good idea?"
"You think him throwing up is a good idea?" Mom spat back.
"Sold," Dad said as he swerved off the road into the gravel lot of a tiny, white brick church nestled in the trees between a grove of woods and a freshly plowed field. On a quiet Sunday morning, our truck skidding into their driveway was not a secret. Mom and I hopped out for a quick walkabout while Dad turned the truck around. As the strains of a gospel song sprung up from inside the church, Dad pulled up next to us and said, "Quick - jump in!"
"We're not hurting anything," Mom said, clearly not ready to jump in. "No one will care that we are here. It's a church for Pete's sake. We don't need to make a getaway."
Dad looked skeptical. I don't think he wanted the Sunday morning fellowship advertised on the church's sign. Thankfully for him, it didn't take long for me to get my stomach straight, and we set off again. Mom suggested, this time, Dad take the country roads a little slower, and before long, I did the only thing I could -
When we finally arrived at the mystery destination, there was so much to see! Mom took me exploring to check out the beach, the dock, and . . . the jacuzzi tub?
"This must be what luxury means," I said, gazing at that tub.
"Not with wallpaper like that," Mom replied, "but it'll do. Location is everything, Gus, and we're set with a short walk to the water in either direction. We don't need a luxurious bathroom."
Guess I have a lot to learn about vacation, but if this is how all road trips end, I can't wait to see what comes next.
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