Lately I’ve noticed something different when I go outside to do my zoomies. It’s getting warmer here in the desert. I like it. The sun warms my bones when I lay on the grass. I’ve also noticed some of our neighbors packing their cars and leaving. Where are they going and why? Do you suppose it’s because of the weather?
I remember when I was younger, my mom and dad would be really busy this time of year. Dad worked on the moving house in the side yard. Mom cooked in the kitchen making yummy food that occasionally dropped to the floor. I slurped up spaghetti, meat, and celery. I’m a great helper. Then they would walk back and forth and back and forth out to the moving house. I had to follow them, of course. Then Dad would work on the truck. I was afraid they were going for a ride without me, so I stayed really close to them. I might have whined a little too. As it turned out, Dad made a nice comfy bed for me in the backseat of the truck. I could hardly wait to jump in and try it out.
We went for a ride for many days. I slept most of the time, but when we stopped, we were always someplace other than Arizona. I could tell because the smells were different. I sniffed and sniffed and thought, “Oh, we’re in Utah now.” Then, “I smell Wyoming.” “Oh, this must be North Dakota.” Finally, after three sleeps, I smelled Minnesota. We stayed there for a long time, well, at least through the summer.
Things I liked about our summers:
- Wrestling with the neighbor’s dog, Easton.
- Running up and down the stairs. Sometimes I’d do a body slam into the wall.
- Watching the slippery, smelly creatures flop around on the bottom of the boat.
- Barking at the floating birds next to the boat.
- Sniffing corn on long walks with Mom.
Things I didn’t like about our summers:
- Buzzing bugs around my butt.
- Getting my feet wet.
- Huddling under the stairs when the flashing lights and wind started.
- Not being able to eat the zucchini in Mom’s garden.
Truth be told, I liked our summers far away from Arizona. I wonder why we never go there anymore. And where’s the moving house?
Love,
Larry