There is nothing I like better than the “G” word, “Go?”. Dad tries to avoid saying it, as the immediate pandemonium it invokes is not for the faint of heart, but even him spelling it causes Max and I to lose control of our faculties.
What is this canine fascination with going mobile? Some hypothesize that it’s because that dogs are always excited about going somewhere new, an idea that I totally get, as everyone knows, I’m all about the travel. But Max disagrees; he can detect the sound of dad’s car arriving long before it actually comes down the street, and will be waiting at the bottom of the hill. Even though he knows that the ride will be brief, less than fifteen yards, and always arrives at the same destination, the Casa, this excites him as much as a trip to Colorado.
There’s the whole “hanging my head out of the window” thing. It’s the canine equivalent to speed reading, or channel surfing; LOTS of information to be assimilated, but I’m only good up to 55 MPH, then I go into information overload. much like “drinking from a fire hose”. It’s advantageous that Miss Ellie is usually the chariot of choice these days, as this is the speed where she is most comfortable rumbling along. Although the old Subie is fully capable of exceeding 70, she let’s dad know that she’s only cooperating under extreme protest.
Then there’s the motorcycles. Icarus, the Honda 919, provokes little response when dad fires him up, as his voice is a bit too refined for my taste, but the yellow bike? That’s a different story. Jehu is a modded out Suzuki DR650, named after the Old Testament chariot driver mentioned in the book of Kings: “and the driving is like the driving of Jehu the son of Nimshi, for he driveth furiously.” Jehu’s story is a bit like mine, as he and dad initially met in a pawn shop. It was dad’s intent to clean up the old bike and resell him, but the crochety old goat found his own voice and convinced dad to let him stay. After adventures too numerous to recount, here he remains today.
All can be peacefull and quiet at the Garage de la Casa, then dad will turn the key on Jehu. All it takes is the almost imperceptible whirring of Jehu’s LED headlight fan to launch me into paroxysms of joy, and I will NOT be denied until we put him though his paces. For some reason, the 55 MPH rule doesn’t apply to the bike, the air must be thoroughly tasted, snuffled, ingested, and savored; first on one side, then the other, then back again ad infinitum, until dad shouts over the blast of the wind, “DANG IT, CHARLIE! PICK ONE SIDE OR THE OTHER!”. I obviously ignore these instructions, as A: I’m the Charlie, and B: he will have to stop the bike to enforce discipline, and dad has the attention span of a caffienated squirrel. By the time he finds a suitable place to pull over, something else will have seized his miniscule attention, and he will have forgotten his original intent.
So whe are we dogs so fixated on “going”? My belief is that it’s because, above all else, we want to be with you, and the car/truck/motorcycle affords us the best opportunity to accomplish this. Think about it; road trips offer the greatest opportunity for bonding: confined space, great tunes, truck stop jerky and plenty of time for conversation.
It just doesn’t get any better; see you on the road!