Epidog
- 19 hours ago
- 12 min read
Mom looked at her wrist. “Oh good! We can still be in Las Vegas by lunchtime.”
She made herself a fresh cup of poop juice and we took our positions inside the Wagon. Thank dogness we’d already solved all the dangers along the way and there would be no more surprises on the slippy sand, bumpy road, train tracks, and dotted pavement.
The Wagon backed into the middle of the car kennel and turned its nose toward civilization. It took a running start and launched into the sand. We had only been moving long enough for a deep sigh when the Wagon gave a satisfied little wiggle and settled in like it was naptime.
“You’ve got to keep moving,” I reminded Mom.
Rrrrrrrrrrr, purred the Wagon in a tone that sounded less like contentment and more like panic.
“Oh dog doo,” Mom said slowly, like speaking at a normal pace might cause something to go terribly wrong.
“Does this count as stopping?” I asked.
Mom dismounted without answering my question and disappeared below the windowsill. She was much dustier when she reappeared a very long time later.
“We’re stuck,” she announced as she climbed back into position behind the driving wheel. “We’re really in deep, but there’s hardpan about six inches down. I dug out the wheels and all the sand I could reach underneath to clear a sort of track to more solid ground.” She woke up the Wagon. “It’ll be okay, if only we can get moving again…”
