Station wagons

I don't like station wagons. I saw one today and it reminded me of the one we rode in with our dog, family and all our possessions across the US in a desperate attempt at a new life. Only, this one had shiny spinners and a bright blue paint job. A mohawked 20-something with tattoo sleeves sat in it, carelessly flipping his cigarette ashes out the window. Somehow, he was cooler than me.

It reminded me of the night we slept at a rest stop on our way to Texas. Mom slept outside of the car, Aimee, Sandy and I inside. We didn't get much sleep since Sandy stood guard over us, barking all night at the cement mixer parked near by. Once we got to Texas, we moved around a bit before living with my aunt and uncle who weren't allowed to have a dog, let alone three adults, two children and a newborn baby in a one bedroom apartment. So, poor Sandy lived in the car. We walked him several times a day and visited him as much as possible. Still, I think of how it must have been hell for him. He barked constantly at strangers and lived only for those moments my sister and I, only 7 and 8, visited him.

Unfortunately, as a pure bred Cocker Spaniel, Sandy developed constant ear infections and some sort of nail issue with every foot. He needed surgery and considering we couldn't even afford our own place, Mom gave him away. Well, that's what we thought anyway. A few years ago, we found out she had him euthanized.

So yeah. I don't really like station wagons.