I am not trying to stick my nose in here. But I am aware that without Dad’s efforts on the FollowToto Internet thing, there will be no accounts of my antics, and also of Wally’s annoying (but, apparently, endearing) exploits.
So here is the rest of the story about Maryhill State Park on the very big river in Washington, the state where we live.
I have to be careful here. If I get too good at this Dad is just going to think I’ll do it, and then he will spend all day doing Solitaire.
Okay. Here is a picture where I am the main subject. There are some other things in the picture, but I am the one sitting up, like a Good Boy, on the green camping cot. I believe I am sitting up here because I have a special Dog sense that, on the next camping trip, Wally is going to cause beverages to be spilled on the cot, and it will likely never be the same. So I am sitting up.
Do I have a carefree, windblown look? I think not. I think I look concerned. But I don’t remember what it was about, because, as I mentioned, Dad should have made this blog post days ago. I’m really more of an in-the-moment type. But I will try. Oh. Why did I include this picture? It was in case you forgot what I look like. Just so we can really connect. You know.
Many times during our stay at Maryhill, it began snowing, at least I thought it was at first. The white stuff was everywhere in the wind, but it did not make my paw pads hurt like the other white stuff, so I guess this is not snow. Mom and Dad said Cottonwood after consulting the internet thing on their phones.
One day while at Maryhill Dad took us to see a stone hinge.
If you look really close, in the middle, you can see me, on a leash. Oh and you can probably see Mom and Wally too. But wait till you see what it looked like when we arrived.
The view from the memorial attracted Dad and his new camera the way hot dogs attract me. For all the work he put in, he said the pictures were Unimpressive. Too bad. Maybe it was all that howling wind. Do you like how I bring Dog words into my work? I do.
Well so finally Dad observed that we were camped in some sort of Transit Hub. Trains, cars, barges and tugs. Here, then, is a Barge Picture I chose from his campsite photos.
Dad drove us home after this picture. It was a good drive through the Columbia River Gorge, which frankly was prettier than where we camped. But everything is beautiful, everywhere, really. Except maybe Wally.Sharing is caring!
Following is daring.