Day 1. We get a late start, Jonesy cursing all the pet-made messes. SSW continues to shred paper while we tidy, so when the house cleaning is finished, he has made new flotsam. Circular, endless.
The two dogs vie for who gets to be nearest the front of the car, noses or paws on the armrest. Once we get to the lake, Lulu bursts out of the car, an explosion of barking and leaping. TK smiles and smiles.
Day 2. We drive a half-hour to the grocery store (Ach! we have no coffee!) where Jonsey insists on a chocolate box cake with cream cheese factory frosting. When I make it a few days later, she feels caked-out after a couple of pieces, moaning about how there is so much more to eat. She makes me promise not to let her cajole me into buying another cake to make on vacation.
Lulu rolls on a dead fish and is summoned by Jonesy for a hose-bath outside, which she partakes in humbly, gently, tail-tucked.
Day 3. The dogs are starting to slow down. They stand around sleepy-eyed after breakfast, but then startle alert when you mention the word beach or walk. Anytime we leave the house without the dogs, Lulu shrieks and paces—you can hear her barking move from one side of the house to the other as we get into the car. Her utter belief in abandonment is heartbreaking.
We’ve seen a small village of pileated woodpeckers so far—one bird was stumbling around the tall grass, another above it. This year’s inexperienced broods?
A large porcupine crosses the road in front of our car near the house, a creature in no hurry, so we stop, and I roll down my window to send him salutations as he enters the weeds.
Day 4. Jonesy tried to encourage the dogs to “go enjoy their dogness” out in woods. They prefer to stare at us through the screen door, pleading to be let in.
We go driving without the dogs (since they abhor waiting in the car, preferring to freak out as we walk away), out about the lakeshore, visiting little towns. I stumble around a dusty bookstore of 40,000 titles while Jonesy falls asleep on a wicker couch in the sun. We leave with a Sherman Alexie book,
The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian.
Day 5. Jonesy finds three grey hairs on my head. I think she is a liar.
Each day, we swim in Lake Superior, a brisk, enlivening experience—quite bracing! as Jonesy likes to say, comparing it to water off England. By now the dogs can barely stay awake at anytime of the day. This is first time I realize TK is old; her legs are unsteady on the lake rocks, she drags her left rear foot sometimes, leaving a nail-trace in the sand.
Day 6. The perfect weather ends—as we start to park the car, it pours. The hatchback had been open to air it out, and before it rained, the dogs sat in the back, looking out, ready to go.
When we get home, it is dark, and our bird-sitter has put SSW to bed. We hear him whispering to himself, and he won’t come out of his cage for me, but immediately runs up Jonesy’s arm. Now it’s clear whom he loves best. And his head bobbing begins.
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