September 9, 2009 – Bothell, WA

This morning was so routine and relatively boring that, instead of giving you the details of our activities, I’m going to tell you about the Great Oyster War that’s been going on here. When we were parked in Coos Bay, Don bought some oysters at a place that seems to be very well known for the quality of their product, in Glasgow. A couple of days later, he cooked half of them tempura style, along with some veggies. Geri thought the veggies were OK, but didn’t care for the oysters. So, here we are stuck with about a dozen and a half supposedly magnificent oysters. A couple of days ago, Don proposed to prepare oyster club sandwiches for Geri and Jan; Jan quickly opted out, and Geri was right behind. Don was becoming increasingly frustrated over those oysters. Yesterday, Geri was discussing the oyster situation with Gary, and recounted the story of Don dragging us through the misery of Highway 49 from Auburn to Placerville some years ago, just so he could breakfast on a Hangtown Fry there the next morning. You may be wondering just what is a Hangtown Fry; well, according to Don (whose veracity I trust completely), back in the Gold Rush days, when Placerville was known as Hangtown, a miner came into a restaurant, threw a bag of gold on the table, and asked the proprietor to make the most expensive meal that he could. A shipment of Pacific Oysters had just come in from San Francisco, so the owner had the cook fix up what was essentially an oyster omelet. It was well received, and became popular as the Hangtown Fry. Don adores them, and will go miles out of his way on a virtually undriveable road in a motorhome to get one. Anyway, he is now fixated on the idea of making some huge Hangtown Fries for whoever in the family will show up to eat them. I really don’t know who that will be. I’ll let you know how this works out.

It turns out that this was my bath and grooming day, and I was taken to groomer in Lynwood that I had been to several times before when we were visiting. They’re very nice, and do a good job of cleaning me up; Don says they even make me smell good. So, that’s where I spent my afternoon. They went over to Gary’s to do some laundry and visit with his neighbors. They picked me up a few hours later, and were very pleased with the way I looked; so was I! They took me back to Gary’s, a place that I remember so well from my puppyhood, the place where I went through puppy Boot Camp, with an ex-Marine Drill Instructor. It was particularly good to visit him in a non-threatening situation where I knew that I wouldn’t be subjected to repeated training exercises designed to turn me into the perfectly behaved dog that I now am.

The visit at Gary’s was kind of short, as the laundry was done and we had to get back to the coach. I got my dinner and a walk with Don. We headed over to what Don calls my “poopenplatz”, which happened to be occupied by a small group of ducks. As he was removing my leash, he asked me to please don’t chase the ducks. Whatever. I didn’t much feel like chasing them anyway, as they didn’t seem inclined to run or fly. I did my business, we finished our walk, and they took off for dinner with Gary and Craig and Jane, who had just flown in from Arizona. They came back a few hours later, with Don still complaining about undercooked rigatoni; I probably would have thought it was OK.
Understand we have a big excursion tomorrow; should be exciting! I’ll fill you in when we get home. Night, all!