On my birthday in 2020, I bought a 1929 Model A. I enjoyed tinkering with it, driving it, and just having it. Recently I realized I had done as much with that car as I wanted to do and I sold it. The buyer was a nice old guy in South Carolina, and I offered to deliver it to him for a good price. Last Monday my brother Gary and I loaded the car onto a trailer to be towed by his pickup truck. I threw the two dogs, Scout and Daisy into the back seat, and off we went into the deep south. I know that Scout doesn't like riding in a car, because she pants like a huffing steam engine the whole time. I figured that after she got used to it, she would stop. She did not. Eight hours into the trip and Scout was still chugging away. By the third day of driving, on our way home, she finally gave in and took a nap most of the way. Daisy on the other hand, was a pretty good traveler. She just sat back there, being stoic and a bit confused over her large sister who smooshed her into a corner for most of the trip.
One small problem with
driving cross country with dogs, is finding the right motel that allows pets. I
was a bit surprised that our second motel had white bed spreads that the dogs
immediately jumped onto. Cute little paw prints that I'm sure will come out in
the wash. Also, motels that let you bring dogs into a room with all white
bedding aren't usually the finest. That second place had some sketchy people
hanging out in the parking lot, and the first floor smelled like cigarettes.
But it's the south, so people smoking was not a surprise. Then there was the lady
who checked us in at the first motel we stayed in. It was around eleven in the
evening when we checked in. I was very tired and when the short, round lady
checking us in said "Ay day." I stared back at her, "What?" "Ay day!" Again, I had no idea what
she was saying. "I'm sorry, say again please." "Ay day, ah need
your ay day." Then I realized, she was speaking Southern. A variation on
the English language that you can usually figure out without an interpreter.