Curled Up Beside My Mom

The foremen at the mill came around the second day we were back on the job to see if we were still planning on taking the vacation time we had booked before the strike began. I told mine, who we all know as The Motherfucker, "Of course."

He shook his head sadly before he said, "So you are telling me you have been on fucking strike for four fucking months and you're fucking coming back for four fucking days before you fuck off on fucking vacation when everybody fucking else in the motherfucking mill is fucking cancelling their's."

"The fuck they are." Foremen are more full of shit than political parties. A lot of the guys must have cancelled their vacations but not all of them.

When I am on vacation I go with people I like. You do not get to choose who you work with but you do get to choose who you booze it up with. There is nothing in life as valuable as vacations. Vacations are good for the beer industry and what is good for the beer industry is good for you. This morning I am not going to tell you about the good people I took my vacation with and the good people I met. I am going to tell you about a dog I met. The dog with no name.

For part of our vacation four of us, Jimi, Sonja, my mom and I, took a seven mile overnight hike into the jungle from a remote village. My mom, who has outlived my childhood hero Evel Kneivel, is game for anything as long as someone else carries the gin to our destination.

We had barely settled our packs on our back and guzzled our last beer before a mid-sized brown dog joined us. She was a cute little thing who liked to play with our fingers in her teeth if we dangled them near her smooth head. Turned out the dog knew the jungle trail better than any guide might have. She stopped and pointed at every thing of interest along the way and never barked once to disturb the reptilian stillness of our surroundings.

When we got to where we were to spend the night she stopped to water herself in the slow river before lying down in a perfect campsite. We fed her and at night she slept curled up beside my mom.

Next day she guided us back to where we began, stopping just before we reached the hot sand where we were to meet our water taxi to take us back to our tropical drinks, more beer and king-sized beds. Then our loyal dog for two days ran down to the river to water herself and wait for the next hikers to join her in her jungle playground.

It is the simple things in life I love, like a dog with no name.