Mom leaned back and her arm shot out as if to shove the Furryner off a cliff. She might have done it, too, if he’d come any closer, but only by accident. They froze for a second, both staring at the stop hand at the end of Mom’s stiff arm.

“It’s not criminal, but it’s a violation of something-or-other,” Mom said in her law-gic voice. “I wouldn’t call it il-legal. More like extra-legal.” What a relief. If the Law found us, they would probably give me a medal for being so much more legal than everyone else. 

“Oh good! The horse came home after all. I knew we’d find a happy ending.” 

“After they mounted a thorough search for the horse, and a respectful time had passed for grief, I bet they adopted a buffalo,” I concluded. “Hey, what’s the difference between a buffalo and a bison?”

“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.

Back when the world was free and Mom believed she could predict the future, she aimed the farthest point in our trip at Devil’s Tower in Wyoming. More than anything else, she was visiting for the punchline.

“Keep the windows closed!” I panted as the glass-and-steel canyons sucked the Wagon through a forest of billboards. “I told you, it doesn’t work that way.” Mom turned down the blowers anyway.

The kaleidoscope of trees and moss fell into a pattern that made sense. “I’ve been here before!” I wagged.