The campground:
The hotel Las Mercedes was built in 1936 and is owned by the same family. Last year other members of the family took over the running of the hotel from the couple who had managed it. They sold the hotel to a company that owns several properties and split the money. The couple that were forced by their own family members left with tears in their eyes.
The fear was that things were going to change but the only change so far is fewer staff but this weekend the hotel was doing lots of business. Herman the manager continues cheerful after forty years working there but he does a lot more manual labor than he used to. He cleans the showers for instance instead of delegating the job.
Rusty usually drags me out of bed when the sun comes up hopefully after it’s warmed the ground a bit. A 50 degree night is pretty cold for me.
We wander the garden together until I have to deploy my plastic bag. Herman the manager likes Rusty; he doesn’t bark and I clean up after him. He got mad at some French campers, two couples with noisy intrusive dogs and they didn’t pick up after their beasts. I hate seeing that because it makes me wonder how many campsites won’t want dogs after they’ve been through them.
Rusty is 13 and he takes a glucosamine pill every day but he is still a lot slower than he was, just like me. He still likes to eat grass from time to time.
I wander around with a phone and look.
If he wants to go outside he’ll go and stand by the gate and look over his shoulder at me.
Of course I get into the walk but after three blocks his internal radar says it’s time to go home. So we do.
The sun’s out, it gets warm and we go back to Las Mercedes.
A church waiting for the congregation:
So if I want to get out Rusty has to stay in the van. It’s really not so bad for him as sleeping is his major activity but he sure tries to make me feel guilty.
He spends his time when I’m around and not walking town sunbathing.
When I’m not there I think he passes out on his bed. GANNET2 is well insulated and I leave a few windows open which in this climate is all it takes for him to be comfortable.
And when I’m with him in the campground he keeps an eye on me. When I come out of the shower there he is watching the door for me.
When he lies in the grass I pull up my camp chair and my kindle. He watches me and naps. I read and watch him.
When it gets dark he comes in and gets his dinner. He doesn’t eat in the morning but I always offer him something in case he’s peckish. Usually he looks at me like I should know better and I shouldn’t waste my time offering him cookies.
He has his bed, he has my bed, he sometimes naps on the carpet. If I go and sit next to him and pet him he gets up and struts off. He is a complicated dog.
But there again aren’t we all? And he still doesn’t know where Layne went.
