On the road again…ho, hum, I’m right back on the road again…I’ll pack my bags and wave a paw to you, my friend,  ’cause I’m out on those back roads once again…or something like that.   Thanks, Willie or whoever for those semi- remembered lyrics.   You get the idea.   Slow and I are crammed into ye olde faithful pickup truck and making our way back to Pretty and the Gang.   Yes, we’re making our way back to you, Babe, with a hum, hum, hum-a-long.   My mind is fixated on tunes tonight, but it’s too warped to remember the words.   Forgive moi my shortcomings.   It’s been a long day.

So, let’s see a show of paws (or hands, if you prefer) for all of you readers who wish they had been standing next to a huge black cannon at some Civil War Battlefield in Vicksburg, Missy State this afternoon looking at this big-ass Missy River with me.   Exactly.   Let me gaze into my crystal ball.   Aha.   Just as I thought.   No one lifted anything except for Pretty, who actually can’t pass a good battlefield, either.   Oh, Brother.   What a pair!   Deliver me from famous dead people’s houses and ancient battlefields.  Get with it, you two!   Can anybody spell Fun?   Hello, out there, is anyone home??   Live it up, kiddos, and take in a Theme Park, for God’s sake!   Ride a roller coaster!!    Feel the wind whipping through your hair!!   Step away from the battlefields!

To add insult to injury, I was humiliated to discover two other canines with their Peeps standing atop this large hill having their picture made with the cannon.   Is there no end to this lunacy?   I hoped that I wouldn’t have to confront them, but they made the mistake of trying to be too friendly.   I hate Friendly.   I loathe Friendly.   I despise Friendly.   Friendly annoys the hell out of me, and I must retaliate whenever Friendly comes sniffing around me.   So I did, and it wasn’t pretty.   If that cannon could talk…sigh.   Poor old Slow tried to salvage the situation, but I was too far out of control.   She finally picked me up (which is always a sign of desperation) and carried me to the truck.   Off we went.   Adios, ancient battlefield.   Adios, Missy River.

I have no idea how long we rode, but I am pleased to be housed in the lap of luxury of some La Quinta motel this evening.   Slow thoughtfully got two beds for me.   I may jump back and forth with delight at being out of that dreadful truck.   Zippity-doo-dah.