This is Deputy Digby Pancake. Oh, what a glamorous life we lead. Camping for eight months, traveling the open road and adventure is what so many dream of. For me, it actually is a dream come true. Because this kind of life is dirty. Real dirty. There is a reason my nickname is dirty Digby. Well, many reasons.

The persons have been trying to get our house on wheels sorted out this week. Boy Person has been fixing the Big Blue Treat Wagon, which is a never ending battle. And Girl Person has been doing paperwork (shuffling papers from here to there and over again which makes no sense) and she has been cleaning. Dirty Digby don’t care about no cleaning. And I certainly don’t care about no dry-cleaning, which is another thing that makes no sense in my opinion. Give me your clothes, I will dry them by rolling on them, and then you can pay me the big bucks. But apparently, the persons think that their clothes being clean is important, so Girl Person took their clothes to that dry-cleaner person.

Now, if you have furkids, you know the drill. Dog hair in your car. Dog hair in your hair. Dog hair in your coffee. Dog hair in your house. And certainly dog hair on your clothes, in your clothes, flying around your clothes and etc., etc. So when Girl Person pulled out the clothes for the dry cleaner person, there came the dog hair from eight months of camping on the road. Yeah, you think you know what dog hair is. I implore you to imagine ours. As the persons were coughing up the dog hair in their lungs, and Girl Person was nervously sweeping it off the counter, she aplogized. The dry cleaner person asked her, “Are you a vet?”. Yeah. No. Girl Person looked at herself.

There she was, standing in the dry-cleaner person’s office with dog hair swarming around her like dust in Kansas. But she wasn’t in Kansas, she was in Lutz, Florida and no such dust here, except for the kind we brought with us full of embarrassment. But she pondered the question. And thought about saying yes to save herself the embarrassment of all the dust in Kansas. To save herself all the ticks in Georgia. To save herself all the flies in Maryland. But instead, she said nope. No. Just a dirty dog person with eight months of dry-cleaning in a Big Blue Treat Wagon that has been through dust storms, deluges of rain and ticks so plentiful they lived in our pants. Yep, those pants are right here.

“They will be ready for pick up tomorrow. What’s the name?” was all the dry-cleaner person could say.

“Just put it under Dirty Digby.”

-Deputy Digby Pancake