Lake of the Woods

Well, last week the doggies and I had a little road trip. We went to Lake of the Woods in Oregon. That's a 1400 mile drive. If you do solid, focused driving, you can make it in a day and a half. The dogs and I had a misunderstanding about available sleeping space. However, it's not like I sleep well in hotels, anyway. I have a few phobias and tend to sleep with the lights on.

There were the usual hangups. We left later than I wanted to. I washed the dogs and threw them in the car without brushing them because I was desperate to get on the road, and so Spoiled One molted in the first hotel room. I tried to fix it, as best I could. It always amazes me that I can go on these trips and find hotels to stay in with the two dogs without any problems. I kind of suspect it's because I come in late at night, and they have given up all hope of renting the room, so they are happy to accomodate me.

There were many visits to reststops along the way, but my dogs are good travelers. Spoiled One didn't start barking and carrying on until I turned off the main roads to the forest road that led to the resort and he saw the pine trees and knew we were there.

They love the lake. It's such a good place for this kind of thing. They have "pet friendly" cabins and there is gravel and pine needles, so the dogs' feet don't get muddy. You can get away from people and find your own section of lake shore to swim the dogs. Unfortunately, I didn't get any pictures of the dogs at the lake. My camera batteries had died by then.

They did lots of swimming, too. Z-dog would prefer to spend the entire time there spiky as a hedgehog and smelling of lake water. Every time we stepped out of the cabin, he lunged toward the lake and strangled himself pulling toward the water. He got close to getting his wish. When we threw sticks out in the lake, Weasel would bolt and leap like a dolphin to get there first, then Z-dog or Sugar would steal it from her as she swam back. One time I saw Z-dog slap a paw on top of Weasel's head and deliberately push her under to get the stick. The observation was made that Weasel is even more funny looking when she's soaking wet. Scarey, but true.

I would like to announce that I achieved my goal of not catching any fish. At one point, someone made me use abuse an earthworm, but most of the time I used this neon colored stuff called "power bait" because it looked so strange I assumed that the fish wouldn't go near it.

Alas, on the ride home, not ten miles out, my car pretended to die and flash idiot lights at me. There resulted some frantic phone calls and riding around in a Lexus with four dogs, three people and all of their stuff, and then camping out at the Honda dealer with the dogs in the waiting room. Eventually, all was resolved and we made it home.

Anyway, the car trip sort of precluded any flyball practice.

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