I knew something was up as soon as the old man started putting his socks in his travel box. Out of the drawers and organized on the bed was only the first step. And the definite sign that he was going somewhere was the fact that he didnâ€™t want to play at all.
At first I had tried to instigate a game by rolling around on the bed, messing up his little piles. Normally, he would have just wrestled me away and taunted me with a towel or something, but he just pushed me off to the side and kept on with his organizing and packing.
Of course, this worries me in a terrible way. I donâ€™t want to stay here by myself and I donâ€™t want the old man to leave without me. The only way to make sure that he doesnâ€™t forget me is to wait for him by the door. And thatâ€™s what I do. I pick up my favorite ball so Iâ€™m all prepared for a trip and wait right here in the way. If he wants to leave, heâ€™ll have to go through me.
I wait. The old man hustles from one room to another, grabbing some things and moving them to his travel box. And eventually, he emerges from the bedroom with his now closed box rolling right behind him. A â€œwoofâ€ reminds him that Iâ€™m still here and not to forget me.
His eyebrows go up as he does remember, and returns to the room. What he brings back is something strange indeed. A box, floppy all around and somewhat smelly, is dropped down in front of me.
â€œWhat is this?â€ I ask him. â€œIs it a bag for my stuff?â€
He tells me it’s mine, so I go ahead and drop my ball in there. Then I remember something too. One must be prepared if we are to travel, and thereâ€™s plenty more room left in my travel box to put some things in that I might need. My food bowl is almost empty, so I grab a few pebbles and bring them back to the box. In they go. I might get cold, so I grab my blanket off the couch and bring it too. Thatâ€™s when the old man stops me and tells me thatâ€™s not what the box is for.
â€œWell,â€ I said very matter-of-factly, â€œwhat is it for then?â€
And in I went, concluding that it was I who was being â€œpacked up,â€ not my things. It wasnâ€™t near as comfy as my little house and it smelled quite strange. It was as though it was some other dogâ€™s house. Come to smell of it, several other dogs have been in here. And though it might have been uncomfortable, it wasnâ€™t as bad as being left behind.
The old man put me in the car. Then his bag. Then he hopped in and we started down the road. Now, Iâ€™m used to being able to pop up and check out where weâ€™re going, but I couldnâ€™t see anything in here. There were some openings where I could poke my nose out to sniff things out, but for now, I was packed up in here like the old manâ€™s socks.
Really, the most uncomfortable thing was the top of the box. Unlike my crate, this thing kept on sinking down on me, more like a blanket than a cover. I pawed it for a while, watching it shift the light and make funny noises. It amazes me how I can be entertained by the strangest things sometimes. It turned out to be so amusing that I completely forgot about the trip we were taking. At least until we stopped and unloaded, discovering that just about everyone else in the world was here too.
Horns sounded, people were talking and walking. Boxes were scraping and bumping on the ground as cars rolled by squeaking and creaking. We had emerged into the busiest place in the whole world. And the part that bothered me was that I had no idea what was going to come next. I could smell, but it was hard to see what we were doing, where we were going, and most importantly- why?
Why are we here? I kept asking the old man, but all he did was tell me to keep quiet and to be a good boy. So I did. At least I tried my best to, but there was just too much going on out there to keep calm about. I just hope he lets me out soon. I think I might have to potty.
Jason DuronÂ is a short story writer and author of several fiction stories.Â Curious and lovable as dogs can be, the Adventures of Rocky give you a chance to see daily life from a â€œdogâ€™s eye viewâ€ and share in their thoughts.Â Please enjoy, and we hope that youâ€™ll feel free to comment and give us insight into your dogâ€™s very own “rocky” adventures.