The Roadtrip

A man and a dog, on a cross-country journey. Sounds great, huh? As my journey to Europe indicated, I do have a tendency to romanticize events. A frightened, 100-lb. boxer, stuffed into a tiny space in the backseat of the Saab -- a vehicle, incidentally, in which he'd never been allowed before -- was an amusing sight. There he was, standing dumbly, totally obscuring the rear window, between the golf clubs, the guitar case, and miscellaneous junk for a month's stay. Floyd didn't sit down until we reached Lampasas. Well, let's cut him some slack; he didn't ask to be a passenger on a two-day journey that afforded him the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to defecate in the city parks of Brownwood, Abilene, Childress, and Kit Carson Counties.

Not an experienced traveler, Floyd didn't appear to enjoy his first stay in a motel. Here, in a nasty, cheap motel on the outskirts of Amarillo, Floyd acted out the single rebellious act of his young life. Before leaving the room to eat, I filled his water and food bowl. When I came back, both water and food were overturned, the guilty party glaring sullenly from a corner. I'd come to expect this kind of clearly premeditated, malicious behavior from his sister. Not from Floyd. I cleaned up the gruel, understanding my boy's obvious confusion and disorientation. I went down to the car for something, returning moments later to the same mess. Floyd, a non- smoker, was clearly miffed about the "smoking only" rooms for pets.

Dillon County

Floyd and I soon settled into a flexible but regular daily regimen. Early in the morning, we'd stroll into town, read the Summit Daily News and have coffee at The Arapaho Cafe. They have an outdoor seating area where Floyd soon became something of a tourist attraction. Handsome and well-behaved, Floyd was a magnet for small children, macho ski guy/girl types, and travelers, missing their pets back home. I never fed Floyd breakfast on Arapaho days because I knew he'd soon have new friends begging to share their bagels and cream cheese, toast, eggs, and cinnamon rolls with the now-totally acclimated boxer. He became welcome, by name, in more than one local business establishment.

Playing lots of golf was high on my agenda but I soon discovered I had to spend quality time with Floyd or deal with destructive consequences. Thus, I went out and picked up a book detailing the many hiking trails in Summit County. One day for golf, one day hiking with Floyd. On our many hikes, Floyd displayed, to my considerable astonishment, a heretofore submerged facet to his personality. With a smaller but more aggressively alpha older sister, he was content to amble placidly, letting Roxy take the lead in everything. Now, alone, exposed to new sights and smells, Floyd became a different dog. He'd bound through dense forests and high mountain meadows with an aggressive curiosity I'd never seen. He had great fun chasing marmots and bounding wildly into icy mountain streams. I don't think the Hike 'n' Bike trail is going to seem like much fun anymore.

I was warned about becoming lonely and isolated and yes, there have been days when the only words I'd speak to a human all day might be, "Nice shot, Bobby!" Bobby being a stranger with whom I'd be sharing a golf cart who would, invariably, be in the "oil bidness." Bobby would be from Conroe, accent on the "con." Bobby would be a rabid Longhorn booster.

But all in all, as I see the calendar relentlessly counting out the days of the month, I don't feel lonely. E-mail helps bridge that gap. Too soon it will be back to the real world and two more months -- the worst two -- of Texas summer. n