A Belgian, A Borzoi, A Whippet, the Wife and I Under the Roof.
The diners were good. They always are in New Jersey.
We stayed under the Red Roof. They’re one of the only motel chains that accept dogs. We had Rudy, Trouble and Max with us.
One woman approached me while walking Rudy, saying, “he’s so beautiful, I’ve never seen anything like him. He’s so big. He’s like a horse.” Par for the course. Another woman asked about Trouble. She marvelled at how cute he was, at his confirmation and my wife told her how wonderful he is as a companion dog. Then we started to tell her how neurotic the breed is. She backed away. Max was sitting in the van staring inside of a McDonald’s. A trucker said to me, “It’s been a real tough couple of days. My truck broke down, I’ve been here 2 days and I’ve got 2 cents to my name.” He seemed credible. He just gave you the feeling that he was completely emotionally drained. Then he said, “I don’t think I’m hallucinating, but is that a guerilla staring at me? The reference was to Max, his studious stare and his long thick black fur. No, he’s just a Belgian Sheepdog.
Let’s not forget Dad. He was the most important part of the trip. He’s out of the hospital and in rehab. He’s medically stable but weak. We had several nice visits and enjoyed his usual Henry stories. They broke the integrity mold in 1913.
We’ve been home since Sunday evening. I guess it was just a case of blogcastrination. That’s when your blog is delayed. He’s still got his manhoood. :o)
