The dog that trots about gets the bone.
— Gypsy proverb
Annie Opal
Annie is a miniature Labradoodle. She came into my life in January 2016 as a four-pound, eight-week-old bundle of energy and brown curls. Now — June 2021 — she is 20-pound five-year-old but still a puppy in many ways.
Annie’s original name was Annie Hall . . . but as luck would have it, she was born on December 2, my mother’s birthday. My mother’s name was Effie Opal — so Annie Hall became Annie Opal. (I’m sure Mother would be mortified to have a dog named after her.)
Annie is a great traveling companion. Most of the time she sleeps in her car seat up front, curled nose to tail; sometimes she stretches out on a larger bed in the back seat. But when we enter a hotel with people milling about, she perks up and waits expectantly for any attention to come her way. In hotel elevators, she will sit quietly at my feet and stare intently at the other passengers. but she never makes a move until she hears an “awwwww” and then she’s all over them with love and kisses.
Annie gives me joy and emotional support every day. I give her my unconditional love.
I love road trips. You get into this Zen rhythm; throw the sense of time out the window.
— Miriam Toews
I have had more than 50 addresses in a dozen cities across five states and the District of Columbia. If my life were rendered as a graphic, it would be a road map.
I love road trips as much as I hate flying.
I love pulling out of the driveway and hitting the road with Annie riding shotgun.
I love exploring a new city, a new town, then packing up and heading out toward the next new city, new town.
So it is only fitting at this point in my life that I should sell my house, put my furniture in storage (yet again), and embark on a road trip, ostensibly to find the perfect place to retire . . . but really, just to feel the road beneath my wheels.
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