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

“Mom! Mom! There’s a hot dog shop in Albuquerque, remember?” The hot dog shop was where Jesse went to meet men with face tattoos and trade business secrets. “It has outdoor seating and everything! Can we go there for dinner?”

“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.

“They’re outlawing friendship?” I whimpered. I would never be able to hide my friendliness for long enough to stay out of trouble. “They can’t really send you to the pound for charisma, can they?”

“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.” 

Dogs don’t take pictures, but Mom had tried to explain it before. “Doesn’t a photo capture exactly what the world looks like?” I asked, showing her my bored look in profile. “Instead of taking a hunerd pictures, you could just take one and look at it for longer.” 

“Do you know where canyons come from?” Mom asked, cheating as usual. Whenever she gets stuck, she uses science to invent some improbable story because she knows a dog can’t argue with science. This time, she didn’t even wait for me to guess. “Rivers dig canyons over millions of years.”

“Can’t the Witch call for help or something?” I asked. “You think there’s going to be cell service all the way out there?” Mom challenged. “We just left the only town big enough for a stop sign for 100 miles in any direction.” 

“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. 

As my ears roamed juice boxes, my eyes stayed stuck to the door where Mom had disappeared. Every time the door opened, instead of Mom, a bandit or a veterinarian came out carrying big bags of loot.

She placed the paper ceremonially on the front windowsill and tapped it a couple of times to prove it was there on purpose. “Think of it as double-paying in protest.”  “That’ll show ’em.” 

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.

“The part where you don’t know how it’s going to end is the funnest part of any story,” I agreed. 

The real reason we were in the Outback of Nevada was because we wanted to say Winnemucca. Try it: Winnemucca, Winnemucca, Winnemucca

Questions like that are how Mom cheats at arguments. She knows that dogs can't tell the future like she can.

Questions like that are how Mom cheats at arguments. She knows that dogs can't tell the future like she can.

"Why would there be a parking lot if there were nothing to see? People who drive sedans don't go up a dirt road for nothing."