And Mel is definitely getting old. We’ve been told he has cataracts, but we didn’t realize how much he doesn’t see until we took him for a walk last night. The campground is partly lighted, but there are lots of spaces between lights where it’s pretty dim. As we were walking past one of the more permanent residences, Mel suddenly attacked something in the yard – a flying cow lawn ornament made of nylon with spinning wings. We laughed over that and moved on, and then he attacked…a cinderblock. It was standing up on end with a pole through the hole, set up as a small barricade. We don’t know what he thought it was, but he suddenly growled and charged it, and unfortunately the cinderblock won. It was very funny, but poor Mel now has a 2 inch scrape down his nose where the cinderblock peeled the hair and the top layer of skin off.
Poor Mel's face
It turned out to be a good thing we’d made the vet appointment for Lou, since our first stop this morning was to Sanborn’s Insurance to get truck insurance and a lot of advice for our drive through Mexico. The Sanborn’s people are great. A gentleman sat and talked to us for about an hour and a half, so we left not only with the truck insurance, but with maps and guide books and lots of notes on things we might need and should do in Mexico. We got detailed instructions for crossing the bridge and checking into Mexico, some of which were news to us. We were told not to tell them that we’re heading for Belize, because they’d give us way more of a hassle if they thought we might be heading through Mexico to spend our money in Central America. We checked our dogs’ vet certificates, and found out that Belize was written on them as our final destination. So, we took all three dogs to Lou’s vet appointment and got a different set of vet certificates to get them through Mexico – and Lou’s mouth is fine.
This is not the case for Nock’s foot, which became wedged between the picnic table leg and the seat board while she was climbing on the table, to the point where another camper had to get a hammer and pound the board up a little so she could get her foot out. While this was happening, Nock was shrieking as only a Jack Russell can, biting both me and Tom until Tom managed to get a sock over her head, and peeing on my leg where I was trying to hold her up to keep her weight off the stuck foot. She came out of the ordeal with just a little hematoma on the front of her fetlock, and Tom and I only have a few puncture wounds each. And a pair of peed on jeans. It reminded me of getting horses out of cross country jumps, and I think it’s actually easier to unstick a horse; horses don’t bite and pee on you.
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