“If residents of Winnipeg are called Winnipeggers, are the 600-odd people who live in Winnepegosis known as Winnepegosisers? Sounds a bit ‘hoser-ish.’” –the Dude.
The above quote says everything you need to know about the level of conversation as the truck drives itself down straight and flat highways with the Dude occasionally moving the steering wheel a half inch to either side.
I’d like to know how he got top billing on this blog while I, with my legitimate ‘Dood” lineage, am relegated to third banana status, and further humiliated by being labelled simply as The Dog.
Most of you know me as Dexter, the Meandering Maloney’s sweet-natured companion, affectionate and laid back, always on the lookout for a head scratch or a bum noogie. The oldies’s great adventure is putting my amiable disposition to the test. Sure, I’ve got three dog beds in the truck’s back seat and plenty of food and water, but the Dood does not live on creature comforts alone. I need intellectual stimulation and as I indicated at the beginning, the cab of the truck is a black intellectual void. And what’s worse there’s nothing to see out the windows. Grey fields, grey sky, grey water and a barely discernible grey horizon.
Back in Kaleden I had the run of the neighbourhood, friends who gave me cookies and plenty of deer to bark at. I could sniff the neighbour dog’s bum anytime. No fuss. I put up with ridiculously early morning walks with the Dame and being expected to pee and poo on cue because I knew I could go back home and snooze until mid-morning when the Dude gets up.
The Dude’s natural tendency towards laziness suited me fine at home. His big exertion of the day often amounted to going to the beach to smoke a cigar and knock back and can of Red Bull. I could go for a drink in the lake, chew old deer bones and sniff around while he blew smoke at the water. Now the Dude sometimes gets up as early as 9:30 and the Dame has us both on the go before noon.
How many Ukrainian Churches can one dog look at? Maybe they’re better in full colour but I’m here to tell you that from three feet off the ground one grey minaret looks like any other. I don’t get it. These two haven’t set foot inside a church in dog’s years.
And railway stations. What’s up with that? Brick piles with tracks running alongside. Of course, it’s not all tedious. I’m keeping in shape on bike ride runs through small town neighbourhoods. Sometimes I get lucky and a yard dog comes snarling at the fence. Lucky for them I’m trained to resist trouble. Still, it’s fun to see them all frustrated as I prance by. In one campsite I got an off-leash shot at a big jack rabbit. That hopping thing generates the closest thing I’ve seen to warp speed. The dratted rabbit’s easy escape left an embarrassing taste and the Dude, not unexpectedly, rubbed it in with a derisive “Nice try, Dexter.”
It’s true I get a lot of attention from the geezers at the RV parks. A dog over six inches stands out in these places. Every night it’s the same thing, the geezers take their precious little poofters for a stroll around the grounds. Try and get up close for a bum sniff and the poofters freak out. Honestly, as if I could be bothered.