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 inthe 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
This article appears in July 19 • 1996 and July 19 • 1996 (Cover).