I was three before I went on my first road trip.  I think the delay is caused by the fact that I used to throw up in the car. Daddy drove. Mama sat in the backseat, alert and armed with plastic bags. Acceleration. Deceleration. <barf>

I don’t think Mama ever missed with the plastic bags because I don’t remember seeing any stains on the backseat. This is surprising because Mama always missed when she threw her socks into the laundry basket.  Daddy joked about how I should ask Mama to teach me to play basketball. Imagine that — a golden retriever playing basketball.

I guess when I was three, I learned that I could minimum the effects of the car movements by sitting between Mama and the backseat. In other words, I would sandwich myself in between Mama and the seat. After a couple of hours, Mama would get mad because her back would start hurting. Mama didn’t have the heart to rest against me. Mama tried to remedy the situation by scooting over. But I would just turnaround and re-sandwich myself back in.

As for the front passenger seat, it was vacant but Mama  couldn’t find it in her to move up because in Mama’s mind, “someone had to be in the back to protect me.”

Well back to my trip report.

This wasn’t a trip to visit family. Oh No. Rather, it was a trip to celebrate Daddy and Mama’s wedding anniversary.  A 5 day trip in a place that could be done in 2 days or maybe even 1 afternoon. But, at the time, Daddy had lots of free time so a 5 day trip it was. This was before Daddy entered law school.

On this trip, we met a friend…

My beloved pooh bear. Mama got you from the Disney Outlet store at the Las Vegas Premium Outlets. Daddy would buy clothes for himself. Mama would buy me toys.

Of course, Daddy wasn’t buying clothes at the Disney store. I meant he was buying clothes at the mall. I can see how that can be confusing since they do sell clothing at the Disney store. One time Daddy and Mama went into a Disney store and Daddy told the salesperson that he wanted to buy a “Lion King Painting.” The salesperson blushed because she thought Daddy wanted to buy a pair of “Lion King Panties.” It was a good thing that Mama was there.

I loved my pooh bear. I played with it almost everyday.  I would wrestle with Pooh and take off his shirt. Mama would put it back on and I would take it off again.

When it got quite worn, Mama wanted to buy me a new pooh bear for Christmas.  But around this time, Mama had shielded herself from the outside world. Malls were no longer her thing. So when she wanted to buy me a new pooh, she went on eBay.

A quick search and a new pooh bear was found. Engineer Pooh. Mama thought that I would have lots of fun trying to take off his bandanna and overalls.

When it arrived… it was half the size of the original pooh. Mama was furious. Not only was it smaller than what she had in mind, the overalls were also sewed into the body. In Mama’s mind, Christmas was ruined for her baby. She was not going to let that happen. No way. Mama hopped right onto the keyboard and wrote a lengthy email to the eBay seller. Couple more rounds of emails and bam… we got a free Engineer Pooh.

Daddy remarked, “Why that is highway robbery.” Daddy grew up around the time when the internet was labeled the “information superhighway. The posting didn’t mention the size of the pooh so it’s not really the seller’s fault. Daddy added, “This isn’t Engineer Pooh. This is Train Robber Pooh.”

We played with Train Robber Pooh a handful of times then it just rested in the back of my toy box. Mama didn’t want me to play with him since he might teach me bad things. It is still in a pristine condition.

Mama’s friend asked me once, “is this one of your favorite toys?”

In my Russian voice, I replied, “Does it still have its eyes? Are the ears still intact? Da? Does it have cloth patches? Nyet? then the answer is No.”

Daddy should have never let me watch the Wire with him.

Scylla and Charybdis are no match for my puppy powers. I slay thee with my sweet smile and bright eyes.

Trolls, on the other hand, are no laughing matter. One time, Daddy, Mama and I were walking along the trails. It is literally called “The Trails.” An evening walk. Perhaps that was our mistake.

It was warm that evening so Daddy took off his sweater and wrapped it around his waist. As we walked, we chatted about worldly things – if a golden gets a skin graft from a Dalmatian, would he get spots or would it turn golden?  Is the euro debt crisis over or is this just the beginning?  Should the Rule against perpetuities be abolished?

Halfway through our walk, Daddy got a little chilly. To his surprise, Daddy noticed that the sweater around his waist was gone. Ah… Diabolical … A quick look to the right and a lingering look to the left — yet there was no sign of Daddy’s sweater. Instead, there was only a bridge; an innocent looking bridge that we walked by many times without giving it a second glance.

Daddy didn’t notice the bridge. Instead, we turned around to see if we could find the sweater. Mama suspected that it must have fell and it was now lying on the floor. Although we searched diligently, we saw nothing except a lady with a baby stroller.

I couldn’t look into the stroller basket because I was too short.

Did she take Daddy’s sweater? But why? It was not a name brand sweater. Worth $20 at most.  Would she bring a baby stroller just on the off chance that Daddy would drop his sweater? Highly unlikely.

No. It must be something else.  More sinister.   More conniving.  “We must search the bridge,” I told Daddy and Mama. But all they heard was, “hhhrm hhrrm hrrm hrrm.”

Sometimes I wish they taught me sign language.