I spent three days camping in Mt. Vernon, about three thousand feet from where we park our RV. Oh, the excitement of thrusting your rig onto a state highway, punching the gas pedal to the floor board with exhaust belching out the rear of the vehicle, and accelerating all the way up to twenty-five miles per hour. It was forty seconds of pure magic, pups.
Dad wanted to attend three nights of sprint car races. It means that, with only one car, Mom was left to take me outside every few hours, and otherwise attend to all of my needs while Dad fulfilled some sort of spiritual awakening while being bathed in a filthy cocktail of dried clay, methanol, and tire rubber. Good times for all!
I did get out for a brief walk on Saturday. Dad placated Mom for a few hours with a trip to ever-so-quaint La Connor, Washington. I strolled the streets, stopping to smell the flowers. It was the best twenty minutes of my weekend.
By the way, Mom figured out that there is something else I can eat? Let’s run a quiz and see if you can guess what I can eat, in addition to gastro-friendly canned mash:
- Jalapeno Poppers.
- Sweet Potatoes.
- Ribeye with Creamy Horseradish.
- Lobster Tail with Drawn Butter.
If you guessed Ribeye, you certainly have good taste, but that’s not allowed on my diet. Sweet Potatoes, pups, that’s the magical treat. Bake in the oven for an hour at 400 degrees, then serve cold on a spoon … I’ll take it!
Late next week, we embark on a trip to Central Washington – and on that trip, I will surpass my 6-12 month diagnosis. Interestingly, I’ve lost about 20 percent of my body weight over the past half-year, which is both good for my athletic prowess and bad for just about everything else. I soldier on, pups, having too much fun to think about anything else.