All this artsy-fartsy stuff and I’ve neglected the regular campsite news.
Today’s post will jump all over in time because I don’t want to strain my brain trying to remember what happened when. Who cares anyway. I’m not Doris Kearns Goodwin writing history here.
One late afternoon recently, I announce to the crew, “Let’s go on a walk!”
With an opener like that, you have to read on, right? I hold up their little, black suits. Spike barks and hops; Bridget squeals and wiggles. “Okay, take it easy so I can get these things on you.”
I like to have a destination for our walks.
Otherwise I wander around the desert like a drunken prospector looking for the mine.
“Guys? We’re going to the dry lake!” The crew reacts as if it’s been their dream since we first arrived at Peg Leg dispersed camping area to walk over to see dried-up Clark Lake. “Oh, boy!”
Off we go with great energy and enthusiasm.
My hat is on my head, my camera around my neck, and the leashes in my hand. All goes well until Bridget sits down abruptly. “Okay, babe. We’ll rest a bit.”
A few minutes later we’re on our way. We walk about twenty feet and Bridget sits down again. All right. This time we’ll rest a little longer.
“Ready? Let’s go. At this rate, it’ll be dark before we get there,” I grumble. We walk another twenty feet or so. Bridget sits down.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
Well, maybe her leg is bothering her. I look ahead and see a low ridge from which we will be able to see the dry lake. Spike is pulling to go there, bless his heart. I look at Bridget.
She’s lying in the sand with her Class III pathetic look on. Oh, criminy. I give up.
“I guess we’ll try this another time.”
As soon as I start toward home, Bridget is on her feet. And you know, the little manipulator did not sit down all the way back to our campsite!
This morning, when we set out once again for the lake bed, I’m ready.
About halfway there, Bridget sits down.
That is when she and I have a — hmm . . . what shall I say . . . a “conference,” and that’s the end of the power-play nonsense.
We resume walking and I notice the vegetation is greener.
We walk a wash with creosote in bloom on the edge. We avoid the treachery of the cholla.
And, yes, we did make it to the dry lake but the photo isn’t anything worth posting.
Now I’d like to explain The Undies in the Breeze Principle.
It was breezy a few days ago. Hmm… a perfect day for doing the wash. The solar panel chimes its songs as I wash four pairs of socks, four undies, and a shirt in a dishpan while sitting outside in a camp chair. I string a clothesline from the lounge chair to the step ladder and clip the wrung items on the line to flap in the breeze. (No photos available, not on your life, buster.)
Of course, at the very moment I clip that last undie on the line, a man drives up in an RV. Sheesh.
The crew springs into action!
Spike and Bridget dart around the BLT like four-legged, mad hornets. They bark frantically in what I must say is an excellent display of obnoxious behavior. The potential neighbor in the RV drives away. “Good job, guys!” Gee, what a great crew. I’m so proud of them.
The principle? Hang your underwear on the line and you’ll have company.
A guy on a bicycle pedals by.
“Is that Paul?” I call out. Yes, it is . . . Paul of Wheeling It blog.
Nina is over at the laundromat washing out cat puke, so he’s alone. He looks over my new antenna and the bumper mount that Mick made for me. He’s impressed, of course.
The next day or so, Nina comes over for a visit. Bridget and Spike remember her and her dog, Polly, so it’s happy reunion time! Once again I find that fellow full-timers and fellow bloggers have no problem finding stuff to talk about.
If this sunset looks familiar, it’s the same one Nina posted on her blog a few days ago.
Tomorrow the crew and I hunt for more metal sculptures!
rvsue
Canine Corner: “I was thinkin'” by Spike and Bridget
“You know, Bridge, I was thinkin’. . . ”
“Oh boy, here it comes.”
“Seriously. Listen to me. Remember when we lived in that house? We stayed there for years and years. All of a sudden we’re moving all over the place.”
“So? What’s your point, Spike.”
“As I was cogitatin’ on the fact that we move around so much, this idea popped into my head . . . Do you think maybe RVSue is running from the law? Like maybe she held up a bank or something?”
“What? You’re saying RVSue is a fugitive from justice?”
“Well, we do move an awful lot. Think about it, Bridge. It fits. Yep, it all fits.”
“You know what I think, Spike? I think you have a hole to dig waaaay over there.”
rvsue and her canine crew 