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We have 112 guests online| Day One: One Toddler, Two Dogs, Three Thousand Miles |
| Written by Robyn Larson McCarthy | |||
| Wednesday, 05 November 2008 19:00 | |||
A tight schedule isn't the only difference this time around, either. For the first time ever--with Chaucer, that is--we're camping en route. As if that doesn't guarantee enough fun, the newest member of the family--Brontë the six-month-old lab--is along for the ride. The storms soaking the Northeast made for stressful driving and dreary views our first day. Fortunately, I've never suffered from motion sickness, so car trips are an opportunity to catch up on business magazines and for Carmen and me to discuss book outlines or other long-term projects for the publishing company. Still, Chaucer and The Boy would have preferred that the skies not open up each time we stopped for them to run around. Lunch was a picnic affair in the car, The Boy perched between the driver's and passenger's seats. Good thing the Sequoia's center console is so large. Brontë, of course, couldn't have been happier streaking around the rest stops with a drenched Carmen in tow. The aroma of wet dog lingered until evening.
After a mini-shopping spree at L.L. Bean, Carmen and I found ourselves on the leaf-strewn lawn earlier this week ready to practice erecting our brand-new tent. Now, I was in Girl Scouts the last time I personally set up a "real" tent--the kind with a logger jam of heavy metal poles in four-dozen unmarked sizes and canvas material as heavy and unwieldy as a toddler gone limp during a tantrum in the main grocery store aisle at dinner hour. So, what a delight to find how much tent technology has changed. Five fiberglass poles, color coded tags everywhere, and material that's lighter than my rain jacket. Perhaps we should have bought two!
While the setup still came in over the 10 minutes promised on the tent's packaging, the only casualty was a smashed fingernail. Uttering a single shrill bark at some invisible woodland critter, Brontë startled me into hammering my hand rather than the tent spike. Having never been in a tent before--or even slept outdoors--Chaucer received a tranquilizer after his supper. As the vet says, "At his age, there's no reason for him to feel agitated." Besides, the dog who knew how to pop the windows open in an apartment I once lived in would have no trouble escaping from temporary cloth housing were something to spook him in the night. Brontë, as she always does, took it all in stride, snuggling happily in her crate with her favorite stuffed toy. So, after settling the Boy to sleep in his new Disney Cars sleeping bag, Carmen and I popped open a couple of Pilsners and sat down to feast on a savory frittata I'd baked at home the previous night. Just before lights out, Carmen told me where she'd safely tucked away the car keys. Turns out, the hiding place wasn't safe enough. But I'm jumping ahead, as the night's excitement technically happened on day two. Check back tomorrow!
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