I had to take a trip “off-island” for some special wire fencing that was nowhere to be found “on-island.” After adding a quart of oil to Old Grey, and rounding up the mutts, we headed to the ferry dock to embark on our retail adventure. An hour later, this friend of the slow lane and his pooch pals, were just north of Marysville, procuring what seemed to be the only fence rolls of double ornamental loop on the West Coast. Mission accomplished, we headed home.
Clouds consumed the sky on our departure; high winds scattered them on our return. The sun, now a rare jewel to behold, was like a star sapphire bursting through the wisps of retreating clouds. With camera in hand, I exited my truck to find the perfect photo-op perch–off to the bow of the ferry. Gracie and Boz’s deafening snores bid me adieu.
Then I remembered I had left some leftovers in the truck. (They don’t call them doggie bags for nothing.) A pizza box with puncture wounds was all I needed to see. With pizza wedges now undigested and resting in the bellies of two soon-to-be gassy bulldogs, I did learn something (besides never leaving food in the truck); Boz and Gracie are not fans of calamari.