Continuing with the story of Frank’s and my experience our first week here in Georgia …
Early Wednesday morning, I got up to make the trek to the bathroom. I put Frank in a crate I had bought for the trip – not a metal one (I can’t stand the idea of a cage for my beloved companion). No, this one was made out of material, with a wire frame and a zippered front.
I have to say, I had my doubts about whether this crate would do the trick, so after putting him in it and leaving the tent, I decided to sit at the picnic table a bit, just to make sure it would hold before heading across the field. I’m glad I did …
I couldn’t have been seated two minutes when a ruckus arose from inside the tent. It sounded like John Cena and the Rock had teleported in and were in the middle of a WWE extravaganza! The crashing started at the back of the tent where the crate was initially stationed … then moved to the center of the tent … and then finally to the front, where the tent shook as it hit the corner.
Then silence … and a nose peeking through the zippered door on the tent. Frank scooted himself through and stood there for a minute, getting his bearings. I loudly whispered, “FRANK”. He turned, saw me, and then ran full speed to where I was sitting and lunged into my arms. The only thing I could do was laugh and say, “Geezus, Frank … what the f**k???” I set him down and he wouldn’t leave my side. It was like he was glued to my calf! He nearly tripped me two or three times as I walked back to the tent … and he wouldn’t go back in until he saw I was going to do the same thing. When I entered, I saw the crate up on its side, leaning against the corner of the tent, with my neat pile of clothes strewn all over the place! I asked, “Frank, what did you do here, huh?” He just went over to the end of the bed, laid down and when “Pfftttt” … and he wouldn’t come over to me, despite me calling him four or five times. (“The nerve! First, I have to suffer the indignity of being locked in this THING, and then you leave???? And NOW you wnt me to come over to you? Yeah, right!”) The crate is now packed back in the car trunk.
We got up early that morning … I still hadn’t hit the head. I attached his tie-out cable to his collar, pulled the stake from the ground, grabbed the mallet and began the trek to the bathroom. I now have a new morning procedure to follow:
- Toothpaste – check
- Toothbrush – check
- Towel – check
- Washcloth – check
- Soap – check
- Hairbrush – check
- Mallet – check
- Stake and dog cable – check
I wonder how many guys in the world have to follow THAT checklist?
I staked him down where he could see the bathroom door … pets are not allowed inside. I couldn’t have been inside for more than 15 minutes. Now you have to know what a sacrifice this is. My typical morning showers last twice that long (and that doesn’t even count my morning constitutional), but I guess that’ll be a thing of the past.
When I finished and came out the door, Frank was sitting as close to the door as the cable would allow. He started jumping up and down … kindergarten girls could have used him to man one end of a jump rope!
He’s been at the same spot the other four or five times I’ve visited there. I have half a mind to get some chalk and place a big “X” on the end of the walkway where he camps out waiting for me. I’m quite certain he doesn’t miss that spot by more than a couple of inches as he waits for me to take care of business.