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This is our grand prix run from this weekend.  The bar knocking is going to kill me. I swear it is my handling but then why doesn't Pickle always do it when I decel or front cross? And it still seems to happen more on the eye side, which sucks. Maybe I should poke out that eye too? Ha ha ha. Just shows you that I am a sloppy handler so when Picke can't see me he is doing better than when he can see me. I can't believe I thought we were WT material. I think I have a lot to learn.

Got eaten alive by mosquitos last night. I hope they like the taste of twinkies and ding dongs!

The Yard Sale

By: fluffy

Gas was only four dollars a gallon so I stopped, but I wished I hadn’t. I didn’t see the yard sale until it was too late. At first it was just the usual stuff, junk someone no longer needed or needed more in the form of the money that it represented and the beer/food/meth that the money could buy.

A rusty bike caught my eye, it was an old three wheeler with a basket and I thought of my brother. I remembered the Thanksgivings and Christmases that we spent riding circles around the Safeway parking lot at my grandparents. That was back in the day when stores were actually closed on holidays.

And then there were the fenders, flash back to Poop Dog and Zoid and wandering through the swap meet at Volkswagen shows. We dug through boxes of greasy and rusty parts looking for that OEM brake cylinder for a 66 “because that was the last year of the single chamber, 67 had two” or searching for the prefect t fan shroud with intact louvers, “for better cooling”.

My eyes wandered over the junk. It truly looked like this guy had taken everything from his garage and dragged it to the gas station for the yard sale. Old tires, a wheel barrow, random boxes of crap graced the dirt lot. He barely made eye contact with me, and I could tell there would be no conversation. He saw me for who I am; a random white chic wandering through, on my way to somewhere else.

I couldn’t see anything that I would want. And then I spied the dog. I swear it was the family pet, a fat lab mix with a ‘thump thump’ tail and it was sitting in a bird cage. It was a big bird cage, but it wasn’t a dog crate. He had a nice bed of sawdust and water and an index card that said $25 on it.

I wanted to ask if it was $25 for the cage or the dog but I didn’t have the guts. What kind of person sells their dog? In this day and age I wouldn’t be surprised if they were selling him for food. He looked so content in that cage, like he had been to every yard sale with his owner and didn’t quite understand that his life was held in a balance between this life and the next by the price on the card hanging in front of his nose.

And what could I do? Buy the dog and add him to my collection? Give the guy $20 for his next drink/burrito/fix? Drive away and think about if for the next 900 miles? I did the later. And I have been thinking about it for the last 900 miles. And I feel guilty. All I can see is his tail, thump thumping and his wet nose stuck through the bars of the bird cage.

Hanging at the lake with the doggies, listening to Pink Floyd, eating Choclate Wafters from some random Mexican grocery store that are super good, and....., it is good times. Actually we are by a river and the lake is a mile away but it's all the same. Water to swim in, sticks to fetch, poison oak. Here are two pics, one if of our camp and the other is the river. It is deep enough for Pick to swim in. I am working on a short story called 'The Yard Sale'.

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Hunda has been hanging at the edge of the lake trying to figure it all out for a week now. I helped him get in the water a few times and he swam a few strokes but today he actually jumped in after a stick. It really helped him seeing Pickle and Moose go in and out, over and over, after sticks and toys. He finally decided it looked like so much fun he had to do it to. And this IS NOT the trick I was talking about in my previous post. I have hit a little snag on that (Hunda style, go figure) and will hopefully get it in the next week or so.