It’s Saturday morning, the 2nd day of the new year. One of the side benefits of this lifestyle is that I am completely free of worrying about writing “2015” on my checks and then having to cross it out. Of course, I think I might have written five checks in the two years before becoming a vagabond, so it’s not like that was a major problem. But I digress …
Anyhow, we awoke this morning to rain. Again. More rain. It’s not supposed to let up until sometime tomorrow afternoon, which means a second full day in the tent. I can deal with it, but I’m pretty sure it’s getting to my little buddy Frank just a bit.
Franklin’s been sitting on the floor, staring at the ceiling. (Franklin Phideaux Cox is his full name, by the way. Not sure if I’ve mentioned that before). He’ll look at one part of the ceiling for a little while, then at another section before heaving a big sigh of disgust. When he gets tired of that, he jumps up on the cot to see if that vantage point might offer a hint of letup in the continual drumming. He is quite literally, not a happy camper.
It wasn’t raining when we arrived and I could tell he really liked the new place. I staked out his lead before going about setting up camp. Now normally, Frank is doing everything he can to “help” with the set up process, mostly as manager. He wants to get smack dab in the middle of everything … I assume to make sure I’m doing it right. Like most managers, he “helps” add time to a project without there being any real benefit from his micromanagement (and I say this as someone who managed folks in a prior lifetime). Take it from me, Frank is a helluva micro-manager.
But not this time. The scents emanating up from bushes, trees and whatever hidden animals might be watching were totally occupying his attention. The lead allowed him to go back into the bushes about 8 or 9 feet and he was digging it! Judging from the smile on his face whenever he responded to my “check-in” calls, he was definitely in doggie heaven!
But that’s in the distant past as far as Frank is concerned. The “present” means having to sit in a 14 x 9 foot space and listen to the barrage of water pinging off the rainfly.
We were outside on Thursday. We walked around our little loop of campsites a bit and then drove down to see the water and the “Big Tree”. Not just any big tree – the Big Tree … a live Oak estimated to be over 1,000 years old. Charleston had a big tree, too. Having seen both, but not being blessed with a great visual memory, I can’t honestly say which is bigger. But hey, this is Texas. “Big” here is going to be bigger’n and better’n anything else because, well, it’s Texas.
But alas. In the middle of our explorations, the rain started, so we retreated back to the tent. And that’s where we’ve been ever since. We did take a short drive yesterday afternoon for some grub. He wasn’t any happier in the car … he was whining the whole time, which is not normal for him. He loves being on a drive. Except during the rain.
I’ve promised him a long walk as soon as it stops. A walk’ll do both of us good. In the meantime, he’ll just have to be content with the attention I’m giving him as I try to distract him from his misery. Somehow, I don’t think I’m doing as good a job helping him with his depression as he did, helping me with mine.
Poor Frank. :o(