Me and Mom are on the road again after many months of being landlocked. The quiet time has been uneventful, my zoomies infrequent. It’s very sad when a big dohg can’t find enough enthusiasm to eke out a Zoom.
Even though the road of intention led south to Arkansas, somehow, we ended up in Kansas. I guess more campgrounds were open and Mom does love her electric hookup.
Getting to French Creek Cove, in Kansas was a nail-biter for Mom. She had to tow the Ivy on a wet, rutted dirt track, between two fields to get to the campground. This was after long hours on the road. Mom’s nerves were bent.
I, on the other paw, was excited. My head hung out the window while my nostrils gorged on all the different and enticing smells the fields provided. Images of my rolling in the mud boogied in my head. I was getting high off nature while Mom white-knuckled the steering wheel.
Our campsite ticked off all the boxes for both Mom and me. Secluded, we were the only occupants in the entire campground! I skedaddled here and there collarless, while Mom blasted her rock n’ roll in accompaniment to arms flailing and legs stomping. I believe music and dance are the huuman’s zoomies.
Rocks of all sizes tickle My Mom’s heart. Her joy was abundant with a row of small boulders that surrounded a grassy area. This turned out to be the perfect spot for yoga, or for a dohg to catch a few zzzzs in the sun.
Trees and forests are abundant and surround the campground. Ideal for me to hunt critters both real and imagined, plus a tiny lake for me to soak the hunt off.
Mom had a large, covered, concrete table to write on, or for me to hang out on.
It was during our second day in Kansas Mom said, “Hey Otis, wanna go for a walk?” I almost knocked my tiny Mama over in my excitement to hit the trail. That’s when it happened … all four of my guns started quivering as I took a few quick breaths, and just like that, my dust-covered zoomies sprung to life. I zipped here, I zipped there, I zipped with so much gusto I skidded and almost ended up on my backside. Luckily, my heightened sense of balance saved a hound from embarrassment.
I zoomed. Mom laughed. It was a perfect walk.
(Yes, I refer to my long muscular, well-built legs as guns. If you huumans refer to that tiny bump on a short arm as a gun, then I can refer to my leg cannons as guns.)
We have been camping at French Creek for a couple weeks and we both want to return.
A sneeze was coming as I posed in front of the drought-affected lake.
Enjoy your day,
Luv, Otis❤️
So wonderful to hear from you again, Otis!