Car sick…

Harpo threw up every few minutes on the drive home from his breeders, and any time from then on we got into the car. I learned to cover myself in doubled beach towels and bring spares. Windows up or down. Air conditioning on or off. Music. No music. Short drives slowly lengthened to acclimate him. No drives at all, just sitting in the car…

Nothing helped. He started to drool before we got in, and within a minute or two…

To associate the car with pleasure, I drove him to the beach. He chased sea gulls, pronging high like an antelope above the dune grass. He pointed. He retrieved. He swam.  He dug huge connecting holes. He loved the beach, but it made no difference to  his car sickness.

I heard from the editors at Lears after Labor Day. Frances wanted the article to be twice as long, in four parts to run in consecutive issues.

Not fired!

I abandoned the isobars and low pressure systems that had obsessed me all summer, quit cooking and let the house go. In the little square studio I called The Mushroom, built  in a berry bramble beside a vernal pond, I wrote, ecstatic.


About heidivanderbilt

Owner LuckyPup Ranch, Benson, AZ where I raise, board, rehabilitate and retire horses. Recipient of a special Edgar Award from Mystery Writers of America. Married to artist Bernard Fierro.
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2 Responses to Car sick…

  1. Dianne M. Bret Harte says:

    You must never leave me without one of your wonderful, rich posts, Heidi. You make each day!

  2. This is a wonderful story and makes me want another dog.

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