Like caged animals…

In Memphis, the occasional leaving of the dogs at the kennel was pretty much unavoidable. Surprisingly, friends and neighbors are a little hesitant to take on two 70 pound dogs at a time. Since I made it back home I haven’t really had any reason to travel. When it has cropped up, I was going places where I could take them with. No problem there. I know I could theoretically take them up to the farm and they’d be more than welcome, but a three hour round trip drive in the wrong direction seems kinda dumb when I’m only going to be gone for 18 hours and the round trip travel time (assuming I go only in the correct direction) is less than three hours to begin with. Yeah, I think I confused myself with that math, too. The point is, turning a 3 hour drive into a 6 hour drive isn’t going to happen.

Anyway, tomorrow morning the kids are off for a 24-hour stay at one of the fabulous local kennels in Cecil County… and as usual, I’m guilt ridden at leaving them somewhere new. I don’t have much of a soft spot when it comes to people, but these dogs are a different story. If it weren’t for local health codes and army regulations, I’d pretty much keep them with me 24/7.

Even though I’m sure to be racked with guilt, I think I’ll still manage to enjoy some quality time in the land of Boardwalk Empire. I’m sure the my heathens will be in good hands while I’m gone… because if they aren’t, whoever’s responsible for the deficiency will find themselves without hands at all. That might be an exaggeration, but there’s a pretty good chance they could expect to receive a tire iron to the face if some ill fate befell the pups while I’m gone. Just thought I’d throw that out there.

Down the shore…

We’re getting into the time of the year when where I really want to be is sitting under a palm tree sucking down rum drinks from little coconut shaped cups. With a house in Tennessee that’s not quite paying for itself and finally getting the costs of a cross country move into the just about paid off range, I’m grudgingly coming to accept that flying somewhere warm and tropical probably isn’t in the cards this year. And that makes me die just a little bit on the inside. I think I’m just having a hard time justifying that kind of vacation while paying someone else for the privilege of living in their house. Maybe my attitude on that will change if I still have a house in Memphis two or three years from now and on indefinitely into the future. I suppose that’s a first world problem and all, but still, I’ll miss my regularly scheduled rum punch marathon.

Since last year’s major vacation involved packing, moving, and unpacking an inordinate number of boxes I’m still determined to manage at least some time sitting on a beach somewhere. Maybe I’ll just pack it up for a long weekend and head to Atlantic City. If I’ve learned nothing else from MTV, it’s that New Jersey is full of tasty adult beverages and people in serious need of mocking. It might just be the best vacation ever.