Let a Sleeping Dog Lie

Now when you are a dog, going to the Indiana Dunes means running wild on the endless beach and digging up fish bones until the cows come home.  You get to wade up to your pink belly in Lake Michigan, biting at the white caps and rollers.   It also means getting to run free on the wooded trails–trails that are full of poison ivy and adventure.   It’s all good when you are just a dog.

 

 Remi and I loved our time at the sand dunes. 

We visited a buffalo farm and dined on a gourmet dinner of tenderloin and buttered morels, expertly prepared!  My mom and I jumped in a sand hole because it was there and we could.  We were part of a small Airstream rally that weekend as we slurped up ice cream cones and buffalo stew.  We fed the mosquitoes at night and our campfire stories were interrupted by a ring-tailed intruder who scampered up a tree.  We stayed long enough to see a blaze orange sun-ball set against the downtown Chicago skyline.

The trip home was uneventful, which is the best kind of trip home when you are flying solo pulling a trailer.   We parked in the driveway and headed straight to bed.  Reunited, Remi snuggled up against daddy all night and he liked it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next morning, John woke up itching and erupting with poison ivy sores.  Did I mention that he is violently allergic to poison ivy?   HE naturally attributed the outbreak to his working on deer blinds and food plots the day before on Holly Road–where he is building a deer preserve.   That sounded good to me so I went with it. 

The lines of red scabby skin and puss sores cover his forearms and face.  He keeps wondering why it keeps coming out more and more.  I keep letting him wonder.

Could it be right where a little doggie, who missed her daddy, was curled up after a romp in the vine covered Indiana woods?  “Ruttt-Ro!”  At this point, I’m thinking it is best to let a sleeping dog LIE.

 

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