Dog Days of Summer

There, I told myself, the car is all packed and tied up neatly as a Christmas present. I had dragged all the bags out front, and carefully loaded them into the PT Cruiser for our trip to Chicago. Three bags for Mark, one for the laptop computer, another bag with all the dog paraphernalia, various other shopping bags filled with stuff Mark had deemed necessary, and my single bag. Every possible nook and cranny was used. The back seat floor, all the door pockets, and the cargo area couldn’t hold another piece. The front seat was all clean and neat, and the back seat was all set up for Chandler and Sasha. Mark had bought a special sling contraption for the dogs that tied to the front seats, and around the head rests of the back seat. The purpose was to keep the dogs off the floor, and out of the front seats.

One minute into the trip and Sasha has figured out how to unzip the dog barrier that was to keep her in the back. She has flopped herself across the armrests, and is worming her way forward. I take my left arm, and move her back. “Stay!” I yell. She doesn’t. This goes on for at least twenty more occurrences. Fifteen minutes into the trip, Sasha is curled up on my lap sleeping soundly where she will stay for hours. Thankfully, Chandler is stretched out in the back seat also sound asleep. Not even Mark’s screams of terror as huge trucks pass him, can awake the dogs.

I can’t imagine what it was like for my mom and dad on those summer trips. Five, six, seven kids, and a baby in the car, screaming, and fighting, begging for dad to stop at Stuckey’s for a free pecan log. All the luggage stacked on top of the car, and inside, sticky, whiny, smelly kids. It’s a miracle dad didn’t drive off the road and kill us all. All I have is Mark, and two dogs. I’ve already blown up twice, cursing my decision to do this again. Within two hours the car is strewn with sticky snack bags, and candy wrappers. The back seat is covered in dog hair. The dog sling is bunched up in a ball on the seat, and dog treat crumbs have migrated up to the front seat. All my careful packing, and cleaning is for naught. I now have a new found respect for my dad as my legs go numb while Sasha snores quietly on my lap.