Weekends always allow more time to be spent with my 2 leggers than what the work week permits. And usually they make for good entertainment but as it were, the neighbors were hosting a pig roast and I would have gladly given up my family time to join the party next door. As the evening progressed the sweet smell of roasting swine filled the neighborhood. My nose lifted and every fiber of my being wanted to leave all that I normally know and love just to find the source of that heavenly bouquet. What stopped me, you ask? Of course it was Mom and that blasted leash. She knows me all too well and has learned to take the necessary precautions to stay one step ahead of me.
I spent a restless night hearin' all the revelry next door and as the porker continued to spin, the air only got heavier with scent. Morning finally came but again, I was not allowed off-leash and this is where Lesson #1 was presented to me.
INVITATION: A spoken or written request for someone's presence or participation.
Mom explained that this pig roast was "Invitation Only" which means it was only to be attended by those who are invited - of which I was not. I retaliated with the concept of party crashing but she won the battle once again and I was subjected to the leash on every outdoor venture. And then as if this already hasn't fallen under the category of "Cruel and Unusual Punishment", she put me in my kennel while she ran off and had breakfast with a friend. My jowls dripped as the scents wafted thru my outdoor prison. It was torture of the worst kind.
After what seemed to be endless hours she arrived back home once again and with leash in hand she released me from the stockade. She apparently was feelin' remorse for her actions and suggested swimming might take my mind off the the pork product that was so close, yet so far away from me.
An opportunity to go swimming is of course, never turned down by me. Unfortuately, we have yet to find a good place to swim without driving so far to get there. I gotta give it to Mom, she is determined she is going to find the perfect swimmin' hole that involves a short amount of travel time. It's gotta be around here somewhere because we live very close to the Conococheague Creek, or as the locals call it, "the Jig". It is approximately 80 miles in length, with 58 miles in Pennsylvania and 22 miles in Maryland. There just has to be a place for me to swim along it's banks somewhere, don't ya think? Mom had in her head a couple possibilities so we loaded up and took off, passing several bikers and a jogger who were in obvious need of a good barking at. I hung my head out the window and gave them my best impersonation of a mean dog and left them all with something to think about as they traversed our little country roads.
First destination: Sandy Bottom. Excitement quickly turned to disappointment as we saw the sign saying Road Closed. Mom didn't even take her lead foot off the gas and drove on to,
Second Destination: Rabbit Road. We parked at a pull off right next to the bridge that crosses over the Jig at this point. Now before any of you Greyhounds readin' this get excited, we didn't see any rabbits. One thing we did see made us think of Norwood, a fellow blogger who is addicted to frogs. This one's for you Norwood!
He was restin' on a 2 legger's sleepin' bag that for whatever reason had been left there. I don't know why some 2 leggers feel the need to junk up some of the best swimmin' holes 'cuz it can be distractin' to say the least checkin' out all the food wrappers, cans and other paraphernalia that are left behind. Not only that but broken glass is usually found and we all know that glass and flesh are not a good combination. Even so, Mom allowed me to get my fur wet and I did a little retrievin'. This is where Mom and I both learned Lesson #2.
Always do a Wubba check before leaving the house to go swimmin'. Wubba had been left behind and all we could find that was retrieve ready was sticks. As we all know, a stick can be a dangerous thing if one end meets the ground while I am runnin' with the other end still in my mouth. This is my lesson to show any dog out there who likes to fetch sticks the WRONG way to carry one. (Mom made a quick but thorough check to see if this stick had googly eyes before tossing. One never knows when the evil Mr. Stick might be lurkin' about.)
Even knowin' this Mom threw a couple for me just so I could release some of my pent up energy. Here's a little clip showin' me searchin' for a stick that musta floated away without me seein' it because I never did find it. One problem you never have with a purple Wubba. The main reason I'm showin' it is because at the very end you will see that Mom learned Lesson #3.
Flip flops do not make good water shoes. I only wish I coulda been the one holdin' the video camera. She learned first hand what it means by "the road that leads to destruction is a very slippery slope". We may not have made it to Sandy Bottom but in the end Mom and I both got to see a Muddy Bottom.
Third destination: Black's Woods.Several friends have told us about this little picnic area that is nestled in a secluded area beside the Jig. They say it is a good place for a dog to get wet. This is the second time we've scoped it out and the second time we've been disappointed to find the area already occupied by 2 legger activities. Determined to not give up we turned around and headed for Destination #4.
Fourth and Final destination: Concrete Bottom. This is really off the beaten path and was forgotten about until her breakfast buddy mentioned it to her. The reason it is called Concrete Bottom is because the one lane road leads right into the creek and up the other side. One could hardly even call it a road, more like a glorified cow path. We parked, got out and even though it was not deep enough to swim, it turned out to be a nice place to splash and romp, retrievin' every little stick Mom could dig up along the edge. This is where Lesson #4 comes in.
This lesson actually stems from Lesson #2 which has to do with the Wubba check. We both learned that you can improvise and quickly turn a plastic water bottle into an object worthy of throwin' and retrievin'. Filled about half full of water gives it enough weight to be thrown and it fits nicely into my mouth for it's return to Mom for another round. And round after round I went until we decided we should probably call it a day and head back home for food to replace the calories we burned.
Don't pet me after I've been lyin' in poison ivy. I think this is a lesson Mom will be ponderin' all week long.
As we all know this comin' weekend is a holiday weekend and I'm sure you are all itchin' to scratch this weekend off the calendar as am I. But probably none of us are itchin' and scratchin' near as much as Mom.
Pee. Ess. If you think you know where that last swimmin' spot is but aren't sure, check back this week. As the sun begins to burn brighter and hotter, you should see some popcorn a poppin' along the edges. Then you will know it's the right spot.