Thursday, February 18, 2010


Traveling in a motor home with 2 dogs adds an extra dimension to being a good RV park citizen. We might pass through for one night, or stay for a week. Occasionally, we return to a park; most often we don't. So if we trespass the boundaries of decency, our reputation will not precede us to our next location. Or follow us. But we want to respect those unknown fellow travelers who lower their levelers where once we did.

Feeling empathy and more than affection for Sam and PhuPhu, and a desire to preserve my sanity and the interior of the motor home, it makes sense that their needs should be met, and there should be some fun in it for them.

You could say that I'm squeamish about dogs peeing on everything possible because I grew up with no dogs about, in or out of the house. I think there's more to it than that. And dogs do have to relieve themselves somewhere. On schedule. It's just that I feel some things should be off limits: the neighbor's water hose, lawn chairs, my bicycle, containers that I will pick up and use. If I offend anyone by this confession—please forgive me.

When we reach our spot for the night, as soon as it is safe for them, we leash the dogs to the motor home and let them roam as far as they can. When I am watching, I might intercede for the neighbor next door, or a planting that looks especially vulnerable. Every morning and at least once more during the day, they poop. Then we have to pick it up and throw it away. I won't bore you with the specifics, but it's safe to say we're vigilant. There are times when Andre drives away and before I catch up and jump on board, I look under the motor home lest we leave anything behind. Most parks allow pets, but the cleanup rules are (thankfully) strict.

For animals who are wild, freedom includes pooping without repression. What they leave behind is full of history. Poop becomes scat. And for those in the know, it tells all. In the City of Rocks Park near Deming, New Mexico, we viewed the ancient contribution of some anonymous being whose one moment of relief remains frozen over time. I'm glad I didn't miss it.

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