On The Run

Spanish Moss is so hard to photograph.

This ancient oak on Skidaway Island in Georgia is huge.

Today we are on the run, fleeing fleas. We fought the war, now we are marching onwards. 

Destination unknown. 

Somewhere down the road we'll cough up a plan. 

This morning as I was packing up, I left Harley one toy to play with outside, while I collected up the rest of his detritus. 

When all was ready, I called him over, so I could coil up his tether. He ran for the open RV door, then I heard a PLOP.  He had dutifully carried his last toy in, the golf ball, which he deposited on the entry rug with a mild thud. 

I just knew he had a brain in that tiny little goofy head. I was so very proud of him.  

But moments later, he did the ultimate no-no. He escaped!  I had unwittingly left the driver's door open while I was loading him up in the RV door. (I have 3 doors, a driver door, passenger door and entry door.) 

Good grief.

Five or ten minutes later, of race and chase, call and ignore, I finally caught one very naughty puppy. 

Sheesh...