We play tag in the traffic and jostle for position in the four-wheeled exodus of city dwellers. The sky blue monte carlo convertible pulls up beside me and then falls behind. We repeat this for an hour.
Someone miles ahead of us has misjudged how much space they needed to change lanes and the resulting fender-bender has slowed traffic to a crawl. We have a lot of time to play this game.
I chose my car because it is practical. Bear's (my fit's) back seats fold up and I can fit a bike or the dog there.
When I bought my TV the sales man wanted me to pay $$'s for delivery. We won't be responsible for damage. You can't lay the TV flat to transport it. He quoted me the price of delivery and repeated his warnings over and over and over. He couldn't fathom that I might have understood him the first time and organized transport with the position limitations in mind. The boys who carried the TV out to the car were amazed when I folded up the seats and the TV slid neatly behind the front seats. "You'll be fine" they said.
Bear also gets great gas mileage and has low emissions, both sound reasons to influence a car purchase. And did I mention the back seats? Not sure why other car manufacturers don't do this.
The blue monte carlo is not practical at all. Sky blue convertible that drinks gas, that car was chosen because it is awesome.
Bear was chosen because she is practical.
Kootenay and his dog play I see you as the cars play tag. His dog is some sort of border collie mix. The pooch looks smarter than I am. It sits there in the passenger seat allowing the wind to give it's hair a perfect Farrah Fawcett blow out. I swear it smiles at us passers-by.
Back and forth we go until the traffic thins and we lose sight of each other.
I want to be cooler than I am.
I drive a practical car. The apartment I live in was chosen for practical reason. It's big, light and they like the dog. But, you could never consider the neighbourhood cool.
I do have a very impractical dream of living in europe near a beach. But practical me gets up every day and heads to work instead of making any earth-shattering changes.
When we pull into the Coquihalla rest stop I see the blue car. The collie and it's owner are off in the field playing frisbee. They each have Sigg's water bottles. The owner pours the collie's in a small stream and the dog laps at the water as it falls to the ground.
Kootenay and tumble from my car. K laps up her water from a bowl I keep in the trunk, rubs her wet beard across my skirts and makes for the open space.
This guy and his dog work with hand signals. As he and I chat he uses the signals to call his dog, put it in a down, release it from a down, and when Kootenay wanders off following who know what, he sends his dog off to find her and herd her back.
It's all a little humiliating. My dog gambols about sniffing at butterflies and chasing clouds. His dog cheerfully catches their frisbee, occasionally taking a break to check on K, making sure she hasn't wandered off.
The owner and I trade dog park niceties. Kootenay, what's yours? Shep, that's a nice name. Nine, and yours? Four, and you've only had him for two years.
Then K and I pack up and are back in the car.
I follow this tumblr account Men And Their Dogs. Shep and his owner would be at home on this site.
And here lies the essential truth. He is tumblr. I am wordpress.
He is arty pictures that cool folks reblog to each other.
I am self-involved ramblings that a few friends read.
For the images associated with this post see
adogabroadayear.wordpress.com
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