I remember my collie dog, Buoy, desperate to jump into the back of the truck any time we went for a drive. Whenever he rode in the back, he'd bark joyously and with metronomic regularity. He barked the entire way across Canada, from Newfoundland to British Columbia. A few years later, he barked from British Columbia to New Brunswick. His voice gave out at some point on the trip back, and his bark never sounded the same. It was an old man dog voice, hoarse and squeaky, but still filled with canine joy.
I remember my fat grey dapple pony, Dolly, when we coaxed her into the back of a truck. She was often a cranky pony, but when we drove past farms and forests and rivers and more, her ears perked forward and she whinnied again and again with a preposterously basso profundo neigh. When it was time for her to get out of the truck, she did it with reluctance, and tried to get right back in. She enjoyed travelling every bit as much as Buoy.
I remember my fat grey dapple pony, Dolly, when we coaxed her into the back of a truck. She was often a cranky pony, but when we drove past farms and forests and rivers and more, her ears perked forward and she whinnied again and again with a preposterously basso profundo neigh. When it was time for her to get out of the truck, she did it with reluctance, and tried to get right back in. She enjoyed travelling every bit as much as Buoy.
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Date: 2012-06-27 06:31 am (UTC)From: