SCENE EIGHT

A call to action, late on a Thursday afternoon led to a four-hundred mile trip in the company truck, accompanied by my newest best friend Rusty.  Happy that I was home from work, but anticipatory as to why we were not heading out for our daily evening walk, Rusty settled into wait mode, curled up on the couch.  After packing food and water for several days, I pulled out the collar with leash attached.  This is the sign we were outbound and ready for adventure.  Rusty dove off the couch,  gave a couple of gratification chews of his collar as I held it out straight below his neck, and off we went for a short walk down the street.  Just a side note: Several months earlier Rusty began the tradition of chewing his collar several times as I held it out in front of him, prior to my placing it around his neck.  I interpreted the act, and still do as an act of gratitude for the collar.  Knowing quite well we are not leaving the house until the collar is on and the collar is not a control tool, only an item needed to wear if we are going out.

Our walk down the street was short.  A poop and pee location and a short leg stretching run and we were climbing into the truck.  A look of wonder in his eyes as Rusty sat on the center console and watched while we departed the familiar neighborhood for parts unknown.

The next few hours Rusty spent wandering around the right front passenger seat, center console and rear seating area while becoming accustomed to the new higher mode of travel.  After burrowing down through a pile of coveralls and layered clothing in the rear seat, Rusty nestled in for the duration.  We stopped once to stretch our legs and twice for fuel as the nine-hour journey progressed.  We met up with one of my favorite counterparts about three hours south of our destination.  Rusty was introduced and took a short restroom break and we departed to caravan the remainder of the longest three hour drive on the planet.

Midnight arrival at our hotel was met with a sigh of relief.  Food for Rusty and a couple of much needed cocktails and we settled down for a four hour sleep.  The next day would break around five and work would need to be done.  I was unsure how Rusty would do while I worked, but knew he would enjoy anything outside of being home alone for a few days.  He was great, for the next four days.

My work was uninhibited.  Rusty wandered nearby when the opportunity allowed and slept in the truck when not.  We arrived back at our hotel in time for all food joints to be closed (Thank God for Spam) .   A bite to eat and Rusty’s favorite can dog food for him (in reference to the human dog food can I consumed, Spam) and an hour or so walk and I was ready for a shower and settle down with a strong Jack and Coke.  I might not have packed a scrumshish meal plan, but I brought plenty of food for rusty and a generous supply of Jack and Coke.

Our game plan was the same for the next two nights settling into our relax mode by ten o’clock and leaving the hotel at five o’clock the following morning.  Our drive home, four days later was uneventful.  It was sure good to be home, I think we both mutually agreed.

Once home, we both enjoyed the normal routines of our very structured lifestyle.  As I ready for work, Rusty will take over the majority of the head of the bed.  I close the garage door and leave for work.  Rusty spends the day doing whatever dogs do when no ones around.  I prop the front door open a foot, leave the garage side door open and close all gates.  Rusty always has the run of the entire property and living area, whether I am home or not.  The house and yard are always the same when I return as when I left.

In the evening I back into the driveway in front of the garage.  When I exit the truck, I generally hear a little whining or barking behind the garage door.  I press the garage opener and Rusty pushes his nose through the opening crevasse.  He runs out dances and whines a little with delight that I am home and lies down by my feet to get the traditional rub down.  This behavior has morphed into him jumping up into the driver’s foot well area of the truck and up into the driver’s seat so he can meet and greet me while I stand by the driver’s door of the truck, face to face from the driver’s seat.

Arrival at home can result in two immediate actions.  Either I will eat or we will prepare to go for a long walk.  The order of these activities depends on my need to feed this fat body of mine.  Our walk consists of a short drive to the park or direct walk from the house to neighboring community open areas.  We change every day, though repeat walks are becoming more common due to the limited open acreage nearby.

We return from our walk, eat, shower and clean up mess from dinner.  Now Rusty demands we cross the street to a small neighborhood ball field and run a couple of laps.  If I try to have a cocktail before we run he will get in my face (an event I need to record).  After our run, a cocktail is the rule of the day, Alex Jones, a little news of the day or a relaxing seat by the pool.

Rusty needs a little assist to get onto the bed, which he gladly accepts when he realizes I am in route to bed.  At bed time Rusty sets up his post at the foot of the bed out looking the back yard through the sliding door.  He stands watch till the wee hours of the morning, occasionally diving from his perch into the yard to apprehend an errant critter or to investigate an arousing noise or smell.  Yes, with front paws on the bedside he request assistance back to his post after his rounds have been completed.

At three-thirty, when the radio alarm sounds, he is off duty, generally in the middle of the bed and does not wish to be disturbed too much.  I make coffee, perform a little exercise routine, dress, give Rusty a kiss and a have a fun day salutation and off I go for another day of joining the rat race of southern California.

Stay tuned.  The information war will continue.

Signing out,

West Coast American Imperial Resistance