The neighborhood smells like gunpowder. Explosions surround us, small pops and larger ones, and shrieking spinning shouts. When my neighbors aren't throwing meat in the boulevard, I guess they are shopping for explosives and blowing shit up. Buddy hates the 4th of July. Not only does he have to live in some kind of war zone, but I leave him alone for the loudest part, because I just can't keep myself away from the party in Powderhorn just to comfort the dog. He didn't even eat his rawhide while I was away. Too scared. Also, he had let himself into the kitchen and the rawhide was in the living room. Why he was in the kitchen, I don't know, since it's Against the Rules and there was nothing there for him but dirty dishes anyway. The "how" he was in the kitchen has been solved. He jumps my 4 foot tall baby gate. I watched him do it when I returned from the fireworks, graceful in his disobedience. We'll see what kind of trouble he discovers when the baby gate is replaced with a real door. He'll probably take the opportunity to teach himself doorknob technology, and then I'll be sorry.
So, I am not quite packed for my trip. I leave on Sunday. The house is a wreck (dirty dishes rinsed in dog slobber all over the kitchen), and I have no idea what to expect when I get off that plane. This is the least prepared I have ever been for an overseas trip. I'm on my way to bed, so I can finish the packing and cleaning in the morning, before I spend my two hours in the library - and maybe pick up a travel guide that's actually helpful while I'm at it.
What am I doing? I'm going to be in Central Asia in three days, and I don't even know what that means. I guess this is what adventure feels like.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment