So, I took a bit of break from writing this blog. OK more than a bit. But, I have been busy with a bunch of different things and compiling lots of stories to share. At least the ones I can remember. It's been awhile after all.

I have added and subtracted to the herd over the past year and a half. Mulan, my heart dog, passed away very suddenly and less than a year later, I lost Bernie. Pigpen, Jester P, Edward the Bear and Shermanator X are still going strong and they now have a pug buddy, Tyler Durden. He hasn't figured out he isn't a bad-ass Shar Pei yet. The snakes (Butter and Lucille) are still with me but Priscilla, the tarantula, passed while I was in Oregon. Now there are also numerous chickens and five ducklings pooping all over the yard as well. Trust me, hilarity ensues on a regular basis with those guys. And before he left this world, Bernie managed to pick off three chickens and a squirrel. Not bad for an old blind guy.

So I have lots more to tell...but I'll keep this one short. Hope you haven't forgotten me!

I just realized I hadn't updated my last two readers in months. I did survive the summer in New Mexico (more to come on that) and now I am parked on the Oregon Coast. Oh yeah! I spent the month of October in a closed campground just north of Florence, Oregon. My job was to walk my dogs (all are still alive and annoying) and make sure no one steals anything or vandalizes anything. I had the place to myself and the dogs. However, there was a problem.

Squirrels.

Obnoxious, loud, taunting squirrels. They threw pinecones at us as we walked and chattered up a storm. They taunted the dogs by running back and forth just out of reach. I swear they were flipping us off. To make matters worse Shar Pei have an insane prey drive. And I have a terrier. Every night she passes out from the exertion of letting everyone on the Central Coast of Oregon know she has seen a squirrel. Loud doesn't begin to cover it. It's a good thing that years of punk concerts and industrial music have dulled some of her sonic effect on me.

And squirrels aren't the only visitors we have had. A raccoon branch of either the Bloods or Crips have been dropping by after hours. The first time I went out and turned the flashlight on them, I swear they flashed gang signs at me. I stayed inside. Gotta protect my dawgs, yo.

We also had the opportunity to meet one of the local bears. We declined. I love wildlife, but the point of wildlife is ITS WILD. I leave it alone. If I'm seeing bears, then there is something wrong. Like not enough food for the bears. I'm just as happy to see the signs of wildlife (tracks, scat, etc.) Oh, our ursine friend left a nice big pile of hey-howdy-dookie. Just in case, I forgot I had seen him. The dogs avoided it as if it were nuclear waste. Good dogs!

I have plenty more to write about our New Mexico and Oregon adventures in the HMS DogHaus. So if one or two of you out there are still reading, thanks!

The HMS DogHaus docked in Gila Hot Springs May 28. By the time we arrived we resembled a coal fired ship due to the smoking brakes. It was an insane thrill ride making it out here. This place is so remote, that you have to want to be here to actually get here. The road in is twisty, steep, treacherous and downright terrifying in parts. Try piloting about 50+ feet of RV and Trailer through it. On Memorial Day Weekend. I know, I know.

I'm insane.

I arrived with a cold and 5 out of 6 dogs having digestive issues due to the altitude. Let's just say, I am sincerely regretting putting in the small area of carpeting. The dogs opted to confine their issues to it. I plan to replace it with tile. And maybe a drain. So I can hose it out.

The first day I was capable of pulling myself out of bed, I went up to the Visitor Center to check in with the rangers. This place is mind-boggling. The skies are this amazing blue and so clear that the clouds are sharply defined. Wildlife is everywhere and also livestock. There is a sheep corral in the middle of the RV park, which is proving to be a major problem. Sherman is obsessed with the sheep. Really, really, really obsessed.

I took the dogs out for a walk and Sherman broke loose, jumped the fence and began chasing the flock. Back and forth they ran, while the other dogs went completely nuts. While trying to get them under control, Mulan slipped her collar and took off to join Sherman. Uh oh.

I wasn't worried about Sherman actually hurting the sheep. But, Mulan is a different story. She has many confirmed kills (turtles, chickens, gophers, etc.) and she is a master at cutting an animal from the group and isolating it. Which is exactly what she did there. She cut a lamb from the flock and isolated it. Fortunately they hadn't yet been sheared so they had plenty of coat to prevent her from hurting the lamb. All of this took about a minute.

I finally captured them and dragged them back to the DogHaus. By then I was wishing they had been deported back in Arizona.

It's been almost two weeks since I left my parking spot in front of my friend, Kathleen's house. I spent a night in front of Wayne Manor and then launched on my cruise to New Mexico. I wish I could say it was uneventful, but this is me we're talking about.

I decided to take a scenic and slow route, so as soon as I could, I headed for the Left Coast. The trip was pretty smooth and I enjoyed the scenery along the way. Ocean beaches with waves crashing on the shore. Of course I made a little video with my phone and uploaded it to Facebook to taunt my friends. A look at my map showed that I would be passing through Ventura, so I call,ed my friend, Sarah, and asked if I could drop by and visit (as if my conglomeration of vehicles can drop by. More like lumber over and wheeze to a stop.) She said yes and we headed south.

I was greeted at the door by Sarah and her boys, Elliott, Jonas and Choco. Choco remembered me! But, how can he forget someone who threw the ball about a thousand times for him? The other boys were a little young to remember me, but that's okay. Once I brought one of the snakes in for a visit, I made an indelible impression. Sarah and her husband Rick are due to have a little girl very soon. They are a great family and they didn't mind me parking there overnight. I read bedtime stories to the boys and loved it.

The next morning, Sarah treated me to a tour of Venice and I got to meet some of her staff. Sarah runs a non-profit called Paso Pacifico. I won't be able to do it justice, so follow this link and read all about it. www.pasopacifico.org

We said our goodbyes and I launched back on the road to visit my uncle, Frank. He lives in Huntington Beach, in my grandmother's old house. I spent the first ten years of my life there, so I was eager to visit. I joked with a few people that I would get ticketed when I drove through Malibu for having an ugly RV.

Guess what? I got pulled over and ticketed. More on that another time. Did you know Malibu cops drive BMW motorcycles?

I managed to get out of there without being impounded or arrested (I am also a two digit clothing size, which is NOT PERMITTED. Unless it's double zero.)

The rest of the trip to Huntington Beach was easy, until I needed to stop for gas in LA. I managed to get into the station fine, but I was immediately blocked in by a bunch of taco trucks gassing up for the lunch hour. Crap. Now I would have to back up. Ever backed up with a trailer? At a gas station? In a part of LA where no one speaks english? And the sudden realization that you may have picked the wrong station in the wrong part of town?

Actually, the only thing that scared me was the backing up. The other stuff doesn't bother me. I can grunt and make hand gestures with the best of them. The guys were great and helped me wiggle out without taking taking out any gas pumps, taco trucks or the really sweet looking hoopty to my right. And the gas was cheap. Bonus!

I'll save some more for next update. Cheers!

I started off the week at the DMV and finished it with a Notice of Violation from the police. Apparently, someone in the neighborhood decided the HMS DogHaus was an eyesore. From a block away. OK, I'll concede that point, but the inside is pretty nice. At least after you get past the dog hair and drool streaks. And snakes. And tarantula. No one ever complained in my old neighborhood. But, this neighborhood has expensive homes.

Fortunately, I have emergency back up people to mooch off. I love my friends. Even when my dogs aren't using their yards as a outhouse.

Also, I'm leaving for New Mexico to start my three-month stint as a volunteer at the Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument. Training starts June 1st, and I'm pretty excited. This is an awesome opportunity. I will, hopefully, be able to log on periodically with updates. In the meantime, feel free to drive, fly, walk or bike down there and visit me. It's summer! High desert! Cool evenings, warm, not broiling, days. Hiking, horseback riding, hot springs and more.

Yesterday, I decided to take the trailer that the Xterra rides on to the local DMV and get it registered. It was a Monday. Apparently, I am a glutton for mind-numbing punishment.

The day started off with actually hooking up the trailer. When I first bought it, the wiring harness that came with my truck didn't work. So after a couple of hours of fussing and swearing, the guys at the U-Haul in San Francisco, where I bought it, had me purchase a wiring harness and wired it directly into my rear lights. It worked and I had the joy of driving the thing back to Modesto in Bay Area rush hour traffic. Of course, I missed an exit along the way. This is me we're talking about.

If you had read one of my previous posts you would know what happened when I hooked it up to the HMS DogHaus. To avoid profanity I won't recap here.

I backed up the truck, installed the new $38 wiring harness, put everything together and ... no lights. Apparently, it's not the wiring harness.

Options presented themselves: 1. Drive over anyway and avoid any streets where there may be a police presence; 2. Fix it. I decided to drive over. I know the wiring works when attached to the DogHaus, so I took my chances.

About 10 feet into my drive I realized the brakes don't work when the lights don't work. Yay.

I made it there alive and got into the line. It was out the door and into the parking lot. As we shuffled our way into the DMV, I had ample time to look around and admire the many colorful gang tattoos on display. Some of them were quite pretty, with lots of calligraphic scrollwork of the names of girlfriends and mothers. They must be so proud and honored their sons choose to display their love and fidelity on their necks, arms and legs. Giving up the opportunity to ever be gainfully employed is a small price to pay for love, don't you think?

I made it to the registration desk and was assigned B183. The board read B140. It was going to be awhile. There were other letter/number combinations up on the board and I couldn't figure out what they were for. A101, G003 and others, without any apparent reason. It was like playing Bingo with Satan. No matter what numbers you get, it's going to be painfullly drawn out and seemingly hopeless at times.

The worst tortures were reserved for Pigpen. Children. Lots and lots of children. They seem to come out of nowhere and have no parents. Poor Pig finally crawled under my chair to get away from the onslaught of sticky-fingered crotchfruit. (On a side note: Have you ever noticed that certain places seem to always have clutch of parentless kids there at all times? I've noticed it in the Walgreens pharmacy waiting area. It's like a cheap day care.)

Finally! My number was called. I went to the window and was greeted by a Harley mama. Her affinity for loud bikes and hygienically-challenged bearded men were on display all over her and her cubicle. She looked at my paperwork, asked if I had brought the trailer (yes) and promptly handed the paperwork back to me and told me to drive it around back to be "verified." As I stalked back out to the parking lot, I tried to invent new swear words to effectively convey my hearty dismay.

I got in, drove around back and joined several other people waiting for the same thing. And waiting. And waiting. Finally, a DMV employee magically appeared and started filling out forms. I was third in line. I was hopeful. The first car went quickly. She started on the second car. She finished it quickly as well. Yes! Wait, no! She got into an in-depth, rapid-fire spanish conversation with someone. Hope was beginning to fade for me. It began raining. I think the universe was crying. But they were tears of laughter. Then, suddenly she appeared at my side. Moments later I had my form! Now I needed to repark the beast and go back inside.

Happy to be almost done, we went back inside. I walked up to Harley mama and she asked me if the trailer had a license plate on it. I said, yes. Why can't I learn to lie like other people! I told her it was pretty mangled and I doubted I could get it off easily. That's no excuse. I was sent back out to retrieve the plate. Which was riveted to the frame of the trailer. I managed to tear it off with a tool used for installing pedals on bicycles.

Back inside, I dropped the plate on the counter. Harley mama's eyes bugged at the condition. You weren't kidding about it being mangled, she said. No. No I wasn't. Finally, my paperwork complete, an extra $18 paid for a title and official plate in hand, I left. If I was victorious it was a Pyrrhic victory.

Just for fun, I signed up on a government volunteer site. The site lists volunteer positions for national parks, monuments, forests and much more. As a result, I will be parking the HMS DogHaus for the summer at Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument in New Mexico. The Monument is located within the 570,000 acre Gila Wilderness, a part of the 3,300,000 acre Gila National Forest.

I will be there for three months, starting June 1st. As a volunteer I will be guiding tours, working at the Visitor Center and also other archaeological sites. In return, I get the opportunity to experience one of the jewels of the National Park Service, enjoy free RV parking and wear a spiffy uniform. Cellphone service is non-existent and internet access is sporadic, so updates may be days or weeks apart.

I'm incredibly excited to go on this adventure and hope to visit more of America this way. I'm also inviting everyone to come visit this summer. The cave dwellings are over 700 years old and there are also many interesting cave paintings. I'll even throw in a private tour.

As you may have read in the previous entry, the trip wasn't going so well. The stationery parts were OK, but the parts where I actually drove were in a league of their own. The day before included an accidental detour that took us almost to the coast. I'm directionally impaired. I always leave for a place early because I expect to get lost. Even with GPS.

The day's plan was to go to the DMV in Medford, get everything done and enjoy the remainder of the trip.

Oh to be so lucky.

First off, the DMV had moved and my GPS hadn't gotten the memo. It seems that there was a shopping mall on top of it. At least the GPS listed a phone number. I found the new location and determined there was no way I could get into or out of the parking lot with my sanity intact. It was eroded enough as it is. I located a spot on the street and pulled in, taking out a street sign in the process. Yep. I should have taken that as an omen and just left.

I went into the office and got my number from a guy wearing a screaming yellow, tight-fitting t-shirt, short-shorts and holding a pen with a large daisy on top. Obviously, DMV dress code for employees is rather lax. The only other guys that wear that little clothing as part of their job are Chippendale's dancers. Or porn stars. And maybe, Puppetry of the Penis.

My number was called and I approached a rather formidable DMV employee. I think she was the boss by the way the others interacted with her. First task, VIN inspection. Simple enough. We went out and checked the VIN on the trailer. Except, she couldn't find it. I found it, but it was so scratched up she needed to send another employee out to look at it. The DogHaus VIN is on the outside so it was pretty easy to find and read. We went back into the building and she called out to Mr. Happy-Yellow-T-Shirt. He would be doing the trailer inspection. We chitchatted on the way and he was able to easily read the VIN. On the way back he commented on the "Off-Roader And Proud Of It" sticker on the DogHaus (I hadn't had a chance to scrape it off yet.) I got to hear all about how he loves to go off-roading with his wife, yadda yadda. His wife? She lets him leave the house dressed like that?

Back at the counter things seemed to be going OK until she put the mailbox address in the computer. No go. Plus, my veteran's status letter from the VA wasn't the correct format. Getting that in a reasonable period of time was not going to be easy. Damn. The reason I was trying to register my vehicles in Oregon is I just can't afford California.

I have become convinced over the past several years, that California hates its residents. And visitors. Despite paying income taxes, sales taxes, fees, more fees and the salary for the Governator's Hummer Detailer, California is in a state of total disrepair. Just drive around for a short while and you will understand. Highway projects take so long that they need repairs almost as soon as they are finished. Oregon's roads are pretty blissful. Most California rest areas limit visitors to 4 hours. Oregon gives you enough time to actually get some sleep. The air in Oregon doesn't require a colander to strain the chunks out. In California, green looks brown.

I digress. I left Medford and discovered my right mirror was pushed in and I was blind on that side. I couldn't change lanes without it turning into the RV version of "Death Proof." I pulled off at the first rest area and tried to fix it. Turns out, I needed a ladder. Which, in the spirit of this trip, I did not have. Ugh. At least Sherman's toxic heinie was no longer traveling with us. I brainstormed a few solutions, but I was almost to Corning before one of them worked.

Finally. I can see to change lanes and I decided to keep going until I got to my friend, Kathleen's, house. Ah! Almost there! I can see the stoplight for the turn up ahead. By this time it was dark and I was very tired. Annnnnnnnd....Some idiot parked his work truck in the bike lane and the rail was just high enough to shear off the righthand mirror. The mirror literally just touched the rail, but it was enough.

I pulled over and the guys that had their truck in the wrong place handed me my mirror and said there was no damage to the truck. Then they offered me $2,000 for the HMS DogHaus.

I almost took it.

After the trailer hitch fiasco, I finally hit the road the road to Portland. I was pretty stoked about seeing my niece and nephew for the first time in over a year. I hadn't seen my brother-in-law for almost three years. And I actually like him. Well, more like adore. I told him at their wedding reception, "If I went shopping for a brother I would have bought you." Wow, in print, that reads kind of creepy.

The first day wasn't so bad, probably because I crossed the California/Oregon border. Coming through the mountains was definitely a white-knuckle thrill ride. Towing a trailer with an SUV on it, my ability to keep up with the flow of traffic was nil. Big rigs were passing me with ease. And vulgar gestures. On the opposite side of the uphills are the downhills. To prevent the brakes from smoking (bad for everyone's health, anyway) I put the HMS DogHaus on cruise control. Usually the cruise control is more efficient and easier on the engine than standing on the brakes while screaming, "It's the big one, Elizabeth!"

Apparently, the cruise control didn't get the message. Which means I spent quite a lot of time standing on the brakes screaming Sanford and Son quotes. Not the racist ones though. That would be wrong, and I don't want to raise my dogs to think it's OK.

The first night we spent at a gorgeous rest area near Grant's Pass. Yes, I said "gorgeous." This not a term you will ever use at a rest area in California. A very nice Fedex driver made sure to let me know my foglights were still on, otherwise a dead battery would ensue. I slept OK, despite all the big rigs cruising in and out. Amazing what you can get used to. We were back on the road soon after and continued the northward trek.

About 100 miles from Portland, my sister texted me to let me know that there was no way in hell my RV, with trailer in tow, would make it to their house. Apparently it was a cul-de-sac at the top of a very narrow winding road built by elves. This would have been helpful information about two or three days ago. Not hours. I hadn't planned on staying at an RV park. Mainly because they don't usually allow old RVs with 6 dogs riding shotgun. OK, time to pull out the DogFriendly.com guide. I found a place, explained what I was doing (book project, six dogs, yadda) and made a reservation. I even gave her my card number. Seemed like everything would be fine.

Until I got there.

I could tell when I pulled in that this was not going to go well. I went into the office and said I had a reservation. The same lady I spoke with, said I couldn't stay with six dogs. I had told her on the phone I had six dogs. I'm very upfront about letting people know I am traveling with six dogs. YOU CAN'T HIDE SIX DOGS. Crap. On a stick. She referred me to a place down the road, so I called them. Not only do they limit dogs to two, they have to be under 19 inches. That's not in the Guide. In fact, the listings for both places said no restrictions on number or size of dogs. Liars.

I pulled over in a K-Mart (they're still in business?) parking lot and called my sister. She had called and found a place and gave me the number. OK, I called. The wife of the Crypt Keeper answered the phone. For some reason she wanted to know my age. Must be because everyone assumes I have dementia when they find out I am traveling in an RV with six dogs. Well, that lead didn't pan out, either.

Then, inspiration hit. When I was in the Air Force Reserve, my unit (939th Rescue Wing) operated out of Portland International Airport. Some weekends I would stay in Vancouver, WA, just over the river. Out came the Guide and I located an RV park. I called to see if they would be willing to host me and my hooligans for the weekend and she asked, "Will you write about us?" I said, of course, and she found me a spot right up front. They were EXTREMELY dog friendly. Lots of Pet Areas, with bags provided and no hassles. (Vancouver RV Park. 7603 NE 13th Ave. Vancouver, WA 98665, 1-877-756-2972 )

My sister, her husband, Randy, my niece and nephew all traveled down from Keebler elf-land to welcome me back to the Pacific Northwest. We chatted a bit, then I bid them adieu and got set up. Later, I would go up the mountain, but the dogs needed a walk.

The weekend went pretty well. The food was good, the kids were amazing, their house is adorable and everyone was happy. My first drive up to their house, I got lost but the views and scenery were so beautiful, I enjoyed the detours. The plan was for me to go to the DMV on Monday and register the vehicles, get my Oregon driver license and all would be happy in the world.

Monday morning rolled around (too soon!) and I got everything ready to go. Before that, I had to take the dogs out and make sure they all got a chance to lighten up. Poor Sherman picked that day to have a rather nasty case of Montezuma's Revenge. He made it to the grass. Barely. At least it wasn't inside.

Finally, we loaded up and hit the road. DMV or Bust!

Sherman's toxic ass should have been the first clue that the trip back was destined to be worse than the trip north. If I didn't have to be back in time for a Dr.'s appointment, I would have just gone back and stayed a couple more days. I walked into the DMV and was informed that I needed a smog test if I used a Portland address (my sister's.) BUT, smog stations were closed on Mondays. Sheesh. I decided to get on the road and head south, while I figured things out. Somewhere, outside Salem, I decided to take a page from the "Mom And Dad Phantom Address" playbook and get a mailbox address. I found a UPS Store, signed up for a mailbox and happily headed back to the DogHaus. I opened the door and was hit with a smell that could only be described as straight-from-the-bowels-of-hell. Or bowels-of-Sherman. The poor guy couldn't hold it.

On my bed.

It hadn't had time to soak in, so I rolled up the bedding, shoved it into a plastic bag and sprayed Febreze like mad. I forgot to mention the bags were scented. I bought them by accident, and it's not a scent I would have purchased, even had I intended to do so. Cow shit smells better than pine fresh Glad bags. Add toxic dog ass sewage and its a pretty foul package. I ended up strapping it to the top of my Xterra, until I could find a laundry. We made very slow progress that day because every hour I had to let the poor guy out. I only got as far as Stage Road Pass before pulling over for the night.

Where Jesse immediately escaped. I had Jesse, Edward the Bear, Shermanator X and the Pig out for an evening potty, and Jesse decided a busy rest area off I-5 would be a great place to go for an unsupervised romp. He's eight years old and about 100 pounds so he doesn't move like he used to. I decided he would come back when he was ready (he usually does) and talked to some older gents while I waited. Jesse ran up and, just as I was about to grab his leash, he jumped Sherman. As if the day could have gotten any worse, now I had four dogs on leash with two trying to kill each other. In the melee, Edward slipped his collar and waddled off. The two nice guys helped me sort out the two of them and I got Edward back (he stops to pee on every blade of grass, so he never gets very far.) I was so embarassed, I waited until dark to take Mulan and Bernie out.

I realized that my bedding was strapped to the top of the Xterra, so I hauled out my sleeping bag and passed out.

TO BE CONTINUED

I had planned to leave Wayne Manor, for Portland, Thursday. Planned doesn't mean accomplished. That morning I started unplugging hoses and cables, strapping things down and putting other things where they couldn't turn into flying projectiles of doom. The back tire of the DogHaus was on the main electrical cable, so I decided to roll back a little to free it. Instead, it snapped. Crap. I think I have managed to to do just about everything wrong since I started this project. Fortunately, my Emergency Back Up Nephew #1, Naf, whipped out his trusty US Army-issue multi-tool (which I gave him thankyouverymuch) and proceeded to repair said cable. Phew. Another disaster averted.

The next step was to hook the trailer on, load the Xterra and drive off into the sunset.

As if it would be so easy.

After backing up the DogHaus (without taking out any basketball hoops, neighbor vehicles and small children) we got the hitch and trailer properly mated. Now for the wiring harness. Spoke too soon. The wiring harness that was already present on the DogHaus was frayed and didn't work. Fortunately, I had run into the same problem with the wiring on the Xterra when I bought the damn trailer. So I knew, or thought I knew, how to correct it. EBUN1 Naf was kind enough to crawl under the hitch and play around with the wiring. A few wires here and there managed to snap and it took a long time to sort it out, but we finally got it working.

Or so we thought.

The lights worked great. That's if you were okay with turning on the left blinker and the trailer's right blinker responding. Yep, it was cross-wired. Time to take apart the DogHaus hitch wiring and play the game, "We don't what we are doing but we will figure it out anyway." The problem seemed to be the plug, so EBUN1 Naf and I went to the parts store, leaving the DogHaus and trailer in the middle of the cul-de-sac.

We got a new plug and headed back to our potential Waterloo. By this time, Emergency Back Up Nephew #2, Tovi, was home. Tovi decided to join in and help. EBUN1 Naf threaded the wires into the plug and we put it in the socket. Well, we tried. EBUN2 Tovi tried. I tried. It didn't fit. Bernie and Sherman wanted to try, too. They both managed to jump out the driver side window of the DogHaus. I didn't think they would fit through it. I was wrong. As usual.

Finally, I decided to look for the manual and maybe actually read it.

Fortunately, I was saved from doing the sensible thing by EBUN1 Naf's ingenuity. He pulled apart the old socket and discovered the source of the crosswiring. The idiots (not us) that originally installed it and were kind enough to label each wire. And then disregard their own labelling. With a quick rearrangement of the wires, reassembly of the plug and voila! lights worked!

Time to set up the tire straps and chains and drive the Xterra onto the trailer.

But, the gods of all things DogHaus decided they weren't done screwing with us yet. The first strap was fine. No problems there. Strap number 2, however, refused to budge. So, EBUN1 and EBUN2 tried to pull it. The maybe, loosen some bolts. Then pull it some more. After about an hour, I said, "screw it," and gave up. I'll have to settle for just chains. By this point it was past 5pm and we were all ready to take a baseball bat to it.

So, I drove the DogHaus and positioned it and trailer in a straight line. Then the boys pulled out the ramps and, as a reward for doing such an awesome job, EBUN1, Naf, drove the Xterra onto the trailer. Not bad for a kid who doesn't even have his permit yet.

By this time, I gave up all hope of leaving that day and settled down for the night with my hooligans. The dogs that is. Looks like we are setting sail on Friday.

God help us.

I've been parked in front of a friend's house this weekend and, so far, I think I've managed to avoid pissing off the neighbors. It's at the end of a cul-de-sac, which is actually pretty perfect. I don't end up taking up too much on-street parking that way. Plus, the front patio/pen area is away from the guy most likely to bitch. Extra bonus: laundry facilities and a backyard to let my hooligans stretch their legs.

Surprisingly, a number of people have dropped by to see what's up with the crazy lady and the dogs. Teenagers, in particular, are wowed by the whole setup. A big lounge area, computer with HD monitor, highspeed wireless, big HD flat panel TV, and more. I've heard more than one, "Can I go with you?" I've made a point of introducing myself and the pack, which helps a lot. When a bunch of weird-looking dogs from China start barking, it can be a little intimidating (unless it's a Pekingnese.) Fortunately, they are pretty good about shutting up once I tell them to.

I'm grateful that my friends have allowed me the opportunity to hang out here for a couple of days. Tomorrow, I report for Census training, and depending on how it goes I may end up heading up to Portland sooner. One can always hope.

I'm still here. In Modesto, that is. I tried to leave April 11. And again on April 18. But, still here. The pack o'Pei and I are living in the DogHaus full-time now so they've had time to acclimate to the accomodations. So far so good! Well, except that they have all figured out they can easily reach any food item left out in the open. I almost lost my bagel this morning. Fortunately, Bernie likes to take his time with his spoils. I managed to get it back without any damage.

Then, I got a job with the US Census. So, I will be around all of next week for training. This should be interesting. I wonder how many times I will get a gun drawn on me. This area isn't exactly open to government interference, unless it comes in the form of agriculture subsidies, Medicare provided scooters for the XXXXL, welfare checks and DEA raids on Meth labs. Mid-term elections are coming up and every candidate is touting themselves as "True Conservatives." They make Hitler look like a pot-smoking, flower child. I'm already seeing "PALIN 2012" bumper stickers.

Is it any wonder I want out?

So, I don't have much to post yet, but believe me when I start you will not be disappointed. Well, at least not more than usual. Until then let me leave you with a lovely shot of a few of my crew:



God help me!

I am embarking on a new adventure in pet ownership. I purchased a motorhome! Yes, I plan to load up the dogs and hit the road. That's if the remodeling doesn't kill me first.

Awhile back, I got the crazy idea that I would do just about anything to get out of this hellhole of a town. In fact, the plan even got a name (I was in the military, after all.) "Operation Escape From Methdesto 2010" was born. I started job hunting all over the country. I was even desperate enough to interview for a job in Floriduh (AKA "America's Wang.") Then, a lightbulb went off in my head. Why not buy a motorhome? (Granted it was a 10-watt bulb, but that should come as no surprise.)

I have a military pension, so I can, theoretically, not tie myself down with a job. Granted it's not a huge pension, so I needed to choose options that would be cost-conscious. So my criteria were: 1. Pay for the vehicle in full. I can't afford payments on a palatial motorized mansion or the insurance for that matter; 2. It has to be something that can withstand dogs. In other words, used; 3. It needs to run well, but cosmetically it's fair game. See #2.

I found my dreamliner on eBay. I bid on several, but kept getting outbid. Finally, patience paid off and I found and won a 1995 National Seabreeze for $10,901.00. I flew to Phoenix, picked it up and drove straight back, the same day. I wasn't about to spend the night in it. It didn't smell too pretty. Pigpen went along for the flight and the road trip back. Trust me, she wasn't thrilled either. Don't even get me started on the bathroom. Or the carpet. Here is a picture of what one looks like:



Anyway, the nice thing about motorhomes is they can be extensively remodeled. So, I have been cleaning, patching, painting and laying down wood flooring, like some sort of renovation goddess. Good thing I'm the only one that has to live in it. Besides, the dogs that is.

She has been dubbed the HMS DogHaus (Her Mutt-jesty's Ship) I will be blogging from the road about the experience of travelling with six dogs, cross-country, on a shoestring budget. I hope you will join me. It will be entertaining to say the least.

I know, I've really been bad at updating this site. But now I have good reason. After kicking around some ideas over the last few months, I've finally started research on a book I'm planning to write. As of now, there isn't much to tell, but I hope to post updates when I have something to post. In the meantime, love your pets and each other!

This is Miss Pigpen and her biggest fan, Muriel. Miss Piggy visits a memory care facility three times a week and brightens the day for many of the residents.