Try living in a basement that always smells like fresh-swept dog shit and old coffee while across the street every leaf, branch and pebble is perfect.

These dogs can be hell.

So, leaving hell behind me I walked down to the camper that overlooks Lawnmower Man's yard. Every Saturday at 8 am he starts his routine with the weed whacker and does his pattern around shrubs and trees. Then the lawnmower starts...

Swallowed somewhere in the camper's shadows Jerry says, I had an idea.

It happens, I said.

From behind a wall between the dining area and back bed he leans out: I want to go on vacation with you. Just you and me.

Hmmm.

On the floor are last year's folded lawn chairs and picnic coolers. In here hidden by vacation junk is a bottle of tequila, which might be more helpful than the lanterns, unopened peanut butter, and hardened iced tea mix.

Where do you want to go?

Well, what about the dogs?

What dogs?

From the hell I left temporarily I hear Ozzy blaring. Back up at the house I wonder why anyone would leave hell anyway. From that second on you start wondering when your fleeting freedom will end. A lot less worry if you just stay put.

So, as of last year and dog number four, I stand in the driveway and wave bye bye as Jerry takes his daughter on vacation. She'll sit in the front passenger seat where I should be and they will disappear.

Soon it will be a week with just me, the dogs, and Lawnmower Man.

They are going to Delaware and I am going nuts. Bye bye.

Oh Lily. Somewhere in my heart I did not want to go on vacation anymore anyway. A lot less worry if I just stay put.

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