“Bikinis aren’t an essential life skill for women over 30,” Mom said like a warning. “Anyone who’s day-drinking alone has parts of their life that are out of control, but that lady isn’t ready to let herself go.

When the Weather Jinx spoke, the sky awoke. Right on cue, it darkened to a mominous grey and threw down a spat of rain while it gathered its clouds to show what it could really do. “I sure hope this weather breaks soon,” the Jinx jinxed. 

“The trick to doing something hard for the first time is knowing that it’s gonna be uncomfortable, and doing it anyway.”

“Sit, Oscar!” Mom yelled, only she didn’t really say sit. “Run! Run! Run!” She didn’t need to tell me twice. I shot down the trail as fast as I could go without losing the ker-plopping of Mom’s steps behind me.

Mom snapped her fingers like a flamenco dancer to get my attention. “Oscar! Oscar! C’mere. Up-up!” she begged like a paparazza, waving her paw over the rock like it was even more amazing than she originally thought.

With everyone trapped at home, the world would need a protector to keep an eye on things to herd everyone back together when it was safe to come out again. That hero would need a sidekick. A referee who knew how to twist silly rules until they made sense again and wield Murphy’s Law to make impossible things happen, like bringing rain to the desert. The fate of the world rested on its globe-trotting hero, Tintin Quarantino and his faithful referee-sidekick, the Weather Jinx.

“If you can pick your problems,” I coached, “maybe you shouldn’t see wet socks as a problem at all. You would have less to worry about if dry socks weren’t something that you expected from life.”

“For the love of Dog, let me go!” I squirmed. “Hold still.” She squeezed me tighter. “I might drop you if I lose my balance.” 

“No, Mom! This is awesome!” I corrected her. “It’s better than awesome. It’s… There’s no word for how awesome it is in your language.” So I barked the word in my language and did a cartwheel followed by a sprint to show her what it meant. 

The Law paused to check out the Wagon’s butt. He clutched at a big button on his breast, tucked his chin, and whispered into it. It let out a squawk. 

“It’s the treasure that sparkles, not the treasure hunter,” I reminded her. “Why don’t you wear the sparkly clothes for a change?” “Don’t be silly,” Mom said. “You’re the star of the show.” I couldn’t argue with that.

Mom almost never runs with a water bottle, especially in a race, when people volunteer to serve her. Perhaps I should have insisted that she drink out of the puddle. 

Mom’s shoe reached under the table and hooked the loop. I clamped my butt to the floor and braced all four legs. The leash pulled taut and my collar dug into my neck. 

“You sure are lucky you’re leaving the City when you are. It’s coming…” She paused for a meaningful look and her eyes added, You know what I’m talking about and how monstrous it is. 

It didn’t really matter where the Wagon was, as long as I was inside it with Mom. But what happens when your home goes back home?

It didn’t really matter where the Wagon was, as long as I was inside it with Mom. But what happens when your home goes back home?

“I guess I should introduce myself to all these disappointed people so they don’t feel like they drove so far from the Starbucks for nothing

“Maybe a prince will come knocking on every wagon door in Oregon searching for the freakishly small foot that fits,” I told her.

“Maybe a prince will come knocking on every wagon door in Oregon searching for the freakishly small foot that fits,” I told her.

“It’s beautiful!” Mom said, still in that ooey-gooey strawberry-shortcake voice. “This must be what enchantment feels like.”