The photos I sent were shot by amateurs.  What was I to do?  I had no money, fought daily with siblings for table scraps, buried in 3 generations deep of very close relatives–who knows how wide?  Every time I turned around, bumped into relatives.  

Truth is, I wanted out.  So I sent photos: a couple of close ups, head shots, a couple of full frontals, and a shot from behind, me looking over my shoulder.  I wanted them to get a good look at my assets, to see my athletic build, my fine features and exotic color.  

This is me the day Missus and Long Legs Picked me up

This is me the day Missus and Long Legs Picked me up

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was a catch, and wanted caught.

About the time my siblings started leaving home, these nice folks (Long-Legs and Missus) from Canada showed up in a red diesel truck with spacious leather seats in the front, and back.  I had the back seat all to myself and if I wanted to visit, just asked and was relocated to the front seat.  Great view.  Good ventilation.  Heated seats.  Life was good.

We got outta there.

This is where I sit when I am in the front.

This is where I sit when I am in the front.

 

 

 

 

That afternoon he let me out of the truck on this huge chunk of fine wet sand, hard packed, so you could get good traction for a really good rambunctious run.  I found a stick for him to throw.  It was three times as long as me, but we played until I couldn’t carry the stick.  The water there was very salty, rolling up in huge waves that got skinnier and skinnier as they came up to my feet.  Eventually we all got wet, but nobody got as wet as me.

This is my truck,, Long Legs, my driver.

This is my truck,, Long Legs, my driver.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is the first stick I ever played with.

This is the first stick I ever played with.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We spend a lot of time in that big red truck, engine purring on the first real road trip of my life.    Some times when we were traveling, Missus would turn around say, ‘C’mon pups, c’mon,” slapping her thigh.  She would help me get to her lap.  

This is me at the dunes.

This is me at the dunes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next day we stopped at a place where the sand was dry and piled up in huge dunes.  Running was difficult, and sand got in my mouth, gritty on my teeth.  But I had a big drink of cool water, some kibble and back in the seat for more road trip.

Rigby Oregon-7

 

 

 

 

 

Next thing I know some uniformed border guard is checking my papers and giving me the hairy eyeball over pedigree and vaccinations.  I didn’t even breathe while he checked me out.  I tried to pee on the border guard’s shoes, but Long-Legs just about pulled me off my feet.  When the inspection was done, we pulled ahead to a patch of smelly grass, had a good long pee, and crossed the border, fair and square, all legal-like.  Home free.  Legit.

Then fun started for real.  

We stopped at this one place along the railway deep in the mountains and Long-Legs took me for a walk.  When we came around the corner there was a herd of elk, 40 of the big hairy beasts with dark chocolate wavy neck scarves draped around their necks, and nice tan summer coats.  They were real pretty, and some of the biggest ones had fantastic velvety headdresses on.  Cool.  This is why I left Oregon and the second and third cousins that were not removed, but wished they were.

We spent the better part of that glorious afternoon in the Rocky Mountain open forest chasing elk, and butterflies.  Life was grand.  Life is grand.

Rigby Oregon-6

To be continued…

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