Bug Tails - "Bug Went Camping"
When the seasons caused me to transition my wardrobe for cold winter and spring to one for summer warmth, my anticipation of dedicated outdoor activities heightened. It was time to pull the winter tarps off the boat and the camper, haul them from the back-lot up onto the garage patio, and make them ready for their intended enjoyment of water and woods. Bug, my dog, decided to participate.
Our pop-up/tent camper was first to be readied, but the thing must have been a bit intimidating to Bug when I first brought it to the front of the garage. He approached it with caution, growling deeply in challenge. It didn’t run away, so Bug trotted to it and peed on the tires. One soaking was not enough. He circled the damn thing three times, squirting with each pass.
I cranked the upper tent portion of the unit up then pulled out the beds at each end. I set the “stuff” stored inside the unit onto the garage patio. Bug facilitated the unloading process by jumping on, or nipping at, each item as it was removed. Once the interior was empty of clutter, he bounded inside to sniff-check every crack and corner. That chore completed, he selected a spot in the center of a bed and curled-up for a nap. Bug was ready to go on his first camping trip.
We went camping. Two days later we arrived at our favorite campground and claimed our favorite campsite. My wife staked out Libby and Bug (facility leash rules), then unloaded all of the “go-camping-stuff” from the truck. My job was to position and set up the camper.
All during our preparations of camp, old Libby snoozed in the sun…nothing new about camping for her. Bug, on the other hand, bounced about like a ping pong ball. Good gosh, there were new squirrels, birds, adults, kids, dogs, a cat or two…and a gazillion new trees. “The trees”, Jesus, over the next couple of days Bug would drag me to almost all of them.
Camp ready, we picked up the pooper-scooper, leashed the poopers, then went for the first walk around the campground. Old Libby just plodded along minding and doing her own business. Bug…well, I’m sure you can imagine that picture.
Evening arrived with the campfire snapping and crackling, and ready for cooking. The wife and I each ate two hotdogs. Libby and Bug devoured one each. The wife and Bug had roasted marshmallows for dessert. God, Bug, what a mess!
After a long day we all retired to the camper for bed. My wife and I are bigger than average. I’m a couple of inches over six feet and my wife is almost six foot tall. Libby is a big dog, almost 100 pounds. Add Bug at 30 pounds, and it was a comical shuffle for maneuvering position in the small confines of the pop-up to get ready for bed. Um, there were also the dog’s farts….
A hard struggle later, I was under the covers in the bed into which I must literally crawl. On my stomach reading a western paperback, the wife beside me reading a book of fairy tales, and Bug stretched out on the opposite side of her, I felt and thought it a nice comfortable camping moment. Libby was curled around herself on the floor and directly in front of the porta-potty. That was an issue I’d have to deal with later.
About midnight, my nose bouncing on the pages of my book, I decided to turn out the light and give-in to sleep. I reached across my wife for the switch on the hanging tent-light and apparently disturbed Bug’s sleep. He groaned and rolled over against the canvas side-wall of the bed.
SWOOOOSH!...Bug was gone, disappeared.
THUD!...something hit hard on the ground below---Bug had just fallen through the bottom of the bed’s canvas side wall.
Next, squeals and cries of a dog seemingly being tortured filled the night air! Aw, Shit!
Almost injuring myself, I scrambled out of that small confining space of bed and landed with one foot hard on Libby’s tail. She started yelping!
I succeeded in getting outside just as Bug was getting up on all-four’s. He seemed dazed but not severely wounded. Seconds later my wife and Libby stumbled out of the camper to aid in the rescue. Neighboring campers were rushing over from their late night camp fires. The night security lady arrived on her golf cart.
Bug shook, circled a couple of times the spot where he landed, then trotted over to the nearest tree to cock his leg. Bug was okay.
It being obvious that the dog had survived, everyone’s focus shifted elsewhere…on me. Along with the laughter and finger pointing of my wife and the neighboring campers, the night security lady looked at me, and with a big smile (or smirk), said, “Umm…maybe you’re a little chilly?” I said, “Yes, Ma’am,” and quickly went into the camper.
You see, Bug and I both sleep in the buff.