This weekend at the campground looks more like an international airport with families from many different backgrounds. For a few days we are a tiny hamlet of about 100 transient people, 11 dogs and 1 cat. The other cat went traveling with her family and no new ones have come to camp yet. Of course campers come and go, the weekends are sold out, but we do have many visitors that book the maximum stay of a fortnight too.
Lots of tent campers with a sprinkling of RV's, trailers and a great big fifth wheel. Amazingly there are six Class C mini-motorhomes very similar to mine. So far the folks are just camping in them, not living in them fulltime like me.
My tags from the Virgin Islands on the front of my motorhome generate some curious questions. I like to tell folks I drove it across the new bridge. A few believe me too.
I sold firewood to about half the campers, ice machine still broken. The firewood isn't bundled up so I often have to deliver it to their campsite in my little golf cart type truck. It's a miniature truck, no doors, with a tiny dump bed in back, about the size of a golf cart.
Rest in Peace or....
Ride in Peace Harley
I have tried to be so careful with my little puppy but something went bad wrong. They switched little trucks on us. I thought I had Harley securely tied in to the vinyl covered seat of the new old truck so he wouldn't fall out since there are no doors.
Today he suddenly VANISHED! My heart stopped. I slammed on brakes. We had only driven about 6 feet. I found part of the leash under the tire and one very scared puppy outside the truck, just frozen in place like a frightened statue. I am not real sure what happened!
We spent a lot of time consoling each other. We were both so freaked out! I thought I had his leash locked in, so he couldn't leave the seat Some how he fell out and the flexi-leash unlocked. Thankfully he was not run over.
I wrapped one arm around him as he sat next to me. I drove back to camp with one hand. We were both pretty shook up. I really need both hands for driving this mini-beast. The latest one they gave me to drive is called a Mule. Both little trucks are very rough running in serious need of a competent mechanic. I am amazed anytime it gets us home again. I refuse to drive them after dark, because I don't want to be left walking with a tiny dog and wildlife on the loose hunting for dinner.
Back home at my little camp site, I fashioned up a milk crate that is securely locked in place with a seat belt woven through it. I stuffed Harley dog inside of it, but he wasn't sure he liked the plastic open weave diamond pattern in the bottom. I could see where that could be a toe or paw breaker for sure. So I layered the bottom with one of his tiny doggy blankets.
His dog blanket is actually a super soft car wash towel that was being sold for cheap. I bought him one and he loved it so much, I bought 2 spares, because he gets real indignant when I snatch up his blankie for the washing machine. Now I can trade out the dirty for the clean. Besides I've also discovered that the blankie makes a good doggy towel after his bath. He loves that too, the toweling off, not really crazy about the bath, just stoically tolerates it as part of puppy life.
Now he is learning to ride in the crate and stay there too unless I pick him up out of it. I don't want him climbing out on his own, so we are in training. He is also hooked in with his leash, so hopefully no more terrifying scares of him sliding across the seat out of the truck by accident.
After several trips of delivering firewood and hauling garbage, Harley is getting the hang of the milk crate. He tried to hop out once, when I was stopped because he saw his doggy friend. But I put him right back in, told him to stay. After a few minutes (I was loading up garbage) I told him he was a good doggy. As a reward I gently lifted him out to go see his friend. Now when I put him in the milk crate, I always say "STAY!" He has not tried to climb out on his own since.
He sits there while I grab garbage or wood, then we are off again. Often on the way back from the dumpster, we stop at the picnic area or the boat ramp. I gently lift him out, then we go for a walk. I don't want him to think this is all work or that the milk crate is punishment, it's supposed to be just a safer way for him to do his Bark Ranger duties.
New campers giggle, snicker and point.
Look at that doggy riding around in the milk crate!
|I just wuv the wind in my fur as we fly down the park roads.|