It’s the weekend, so that means that Mom had to take me on a new adventure, per our contract. We went to a park called Pogonip, which seems like such a fun word to say that I would say it over and over if it didn’t sound like “woof-arf-yip” in my accent. Mom said we were only going to run uphill for 2 miles, and then only 2.5, and then only 3, but I was so excited that I just kept pulling Mom up the hill. Since Mom was doggie doping, she felt like she could run forever and we kept running up and up and up, until finally after 4 miles Mom said we really did have to turn around now if we didn’t want to be in here all day. Being in the woods all day is a bad thing?
We were in the redwoods, and there’s something magical about the dirt under redwoods. It’s always soft and cool and the trail flows under my feet. When we turned around to run back to the car, we found that every mountain biker in California had been following us up the hill. Now that we were going the other way, they were all coming toward us on the single track trail. We had to dive into a bush, or some poison oak, or behind a tree about a million, billion times to let them pass. I used to be scared of bikes, but that was before I started going with Mom to the bike shop and learned that bike people are the most generous people in the world with lovins. So even though they were messing with my flow, I didn’t bark at a single one of the cyclists. In fact, I didn’t say a peep for the whole run; I was fulfilled without it!
One of the cyclists stopped and cornered us in our poison oak grove to ask us directions. To my surprise, Mom described exactly what he was looking for and told him how to get there. “Mom, how did you know that? We’ve haven’t passed any water tanks, and we’ve never been here before.”
“I went to people obedience classes here,” Mom said. “Well, more like civil DISobedience classes. I had a roommate that moved out to live in a tree.”
“You were roommates with a squirrel?” I asked.
“No, but just like when a cat that lives in a tree is called a squirrel, a human that lives in a tree is called a ‘hippy.’ Anyway, I used to do drugs in these woods. I could find my way around in the dark carrying a case of beer.”
“What’s beer? What’s drugs?” I asked. “I help you find your way when you’re running in the dark. Am I beer?”
“Never mind…” said Mom.
After driving back from my adventure it was too late for breakfast, so instead of giving me my usual second breakfast food, Mom made me a whole egg of my very own for being such a good boy.
–Oscar, the performance enhancing dog