It’s supposed to be Mountain Season, which is the time of year when the mountains sweat off the white dirt that covers the trails all winter and a dog can get away from the heat by climbing into the sky. But February refused to leave when its permit expired this year, and winter has been junking up the sky and leaving a mess on the ground all week. Mom and I searched the weather reports for all of the mountains and foothills down the spine of California for a mountain where it wouldn’t be February. But February planned to dump more white dirt down the back of California’s shirt all weekend. “I guess that means we’re going back to Palm Springs,” Mom said with a sigh. “Which one is that?” I asked. “Is it close?” “No. It’s 500 miles away.” In case you’re not good at math, that meant it was going to take eight human hours of Wagoning just to escape February.
sand worms, and tree skeletons that were so black and shiny that they looked like they were made of glass.
Oscar the Pooch
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