Name:Harrison Location:United States

The Original Lovable Little Fuzzball

Here's the straight stuff.

The adventures of Harrison are true.
Try a few of his Crunchy Bites for a taste.
--Alpha Human Mom

Sunday, June 11, 2006

Not All Kibbles 'n Bits

This travelin' business isn't all it's cracked up to be—not the least of which is no reliable Internet access. The other problem, well—ya' know how people can be about travelin' canines. I say they should be glad no one in their right mind would go drivin' around with a fe-lyin'.

'Course Silly Human Female had to try it, accordin' to the oldsters, which proves the "no one in their right mind" business. She was movin' from state to state and AHM offered to go along and help, and Great Granddam was part of the whole adventure, sittin' up in the back of AHM's car doin' the ole' bobble-head dog thing. Accordin' to her, they hadn't been followin' SHF more than 20 miles down the road before SHF started careenin' back and forth, then headed for the nearest freeway exit like a rocket. AHM naturally went after her and finally located SHF—after followin' the sound of squealin' tires and the cloud of dust—in a truckstop parkin' lot.

SHF must've kicked open the car door 'cause Great Granddam said it sorta' exploded outward with SHF makin' a divin' exit. But instead of closin' it after her, SHF reached back and dragged out two cats, both fetchingly adorned with glitter harnesses and leashes. Two completely fuzzed-out fe-lyings—fuzzed-out that is, 'cept where their fur was suspiciously darker and matted down. And she didn't stop with the fe-lyings. Once they were tied to the door handle SHF started throwin' all the stuff outta' her car too.

AHM had to stop kinda' fast to avoid all the bags bouncin' around in front of her, and GGD, bein' the nosy type, got her snout jammed into the partly opened back window. She always claimed the smell was near as bad as the time she met up with that weird, one-stripe fe-lyin' when she was just a pup.

Once everyone got untangled, AHM got out and started makin' snide comments 'bout SHF and her infamous bladder control issues. (She once got so desperate she went "quail huntin'" in the backroads brush of the Upper Pennisula of Michigan. Bare butt. B-52 mosiquitos. I'll let your imagination fill in the blanks.) Well, AHM was right—sort of. But it wasn't SHF havin' the bladder control issues…

…it was the fe-lyings.

The Boys had had a territorial disagreement inside a small sedan where there's not a big amount of territory to start with. (GGD always said, knowin' those two old queens, they were more likely to be fightin' over who had the prettiest harness, but that's another story altogether.) Anyway, boys presumably bein' boys, they decided to settle the issue by drawin' the proverbial line in the sand. 'Cept it was in the car…and was more like sprayin' the line. SHF's car had suddenly become the world's biggest litter pan—on wheels.

By now the dust had settled, literally, on everything. AHM and GGD were tryin' to help. Okay, AHM was tryin' to help. GGD was amusin' herself by makin' faces at the Boys. They looked like they had been dragged through a dirty cat pan upside down and backwards, and everything else was getting' covered with brown-gray film. SHF was tryin' to decide what smelled and what didn't which, considerin' the inside of the car, was pretty much a lost cause. She finally decided to jam all the smelly stuff in the trunk, so everything would stink equally I guess, but that still left the uphostery and the fe-lyings.

Ever try to wash a cat in a truckstop restroom?


At least not based on the noise level GGD claims was comin' from behind the door, not to mention the amount of Band-Aids SHF needed when she came out.

She didn't think the guy inside the truckstop store believed AHM's explanation why she needed his whole stock of spray air freshener either. SHF musta' used at least one a day for what little good they did.

All in all I suppose drivin' over 1,500 miles, with no A/C, in the summer, in a car that's been…uh…annointed by a couple of idiot fe-lyings, beats dealin' with a few grouchy motel keepers and slow Internet connections.

Guess I'll go count my blessings.

posted by Harrison at 9:10 PM


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