This is Sheriff Peanut Butter Brickle.  You know, I wear a lot of hats.  And I wear them amazingly, if I do say so myself.  But one thing I am not?  I am not a camp host.  I am not Steve.

Some campgrounds have it all.  A lot of space, a place to wash our clothes, a place to shower off.  Some campgrounds have less than that. And some are pretty much arrested as soon as we get there.  Such was the case this weekend in Oregon.  If not for the beach, I would have thrown away the key with no chance of parole. But the beach makes up for a lot, and we literally steps away from the beautiful ocean.

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However, even the beach had a hard time making up for having the worst campsite in the whole place, right next to the office with lines and lines of cars and trailers coming and going night and day.

The laundry room was closed all weekend, the showers were sandy and dust was blowing into our windows every five minutes.  Beach…beach….serenity now, serenity now!

Because we were parked so close to the office which was only open for four hours a day, by the way, which is less than even Deputy Digby’s work schedule, people got confused when it closed.  What would they do?  How would they check in?  What if their electric didn’t work?  Who were they supposed to call?  The camp host.  And where was the camp host?  Where was the camp host named Steve? OH, mysteriously two rows over from the office with no sign.  So who did they think was the camp host?  Serenity now…serenity now…

Morning.  Knock, knock!  “Hello? Is Steve in there?”  Afternoon.  Knock, knock.  “I can’t get cable.”  And that wasn’t the worst of it.

As we were about to go to bed at 10:30 at night…flashlights in our window, scaring us all to death.  Serenity now…serenity now…

Hello again.  Hello.  No, my name is NOT Steve.

Sometimes, Girl Person is not the voice of reason, sorry to break the news.  After awhile, she flips out, and this Steve guy or the lack there of, was it.  The flashlight was the last straw.  As Boy Person told him above our barking that we were not Steve, Girl Person about threw her steamed broccoli pot out the window at this camper guy.  She was going to find Steve and give him a piece of her mind. Boy Person told her to calm down and that he would go tell the camper where Steve was.  He told Girl Person when you are so mad that you want to flip out, if you pull yourself together and try to be nice and helpful that you have no choice but to calm down.  Well, that does not work for me.  As usual, Deputy Digby does not care, and he had not cared all day.

And so as our night went on, and the next morning, we were on guard.  When would the next knock be?  What would they need?  Instructions on how to use the water?  To find out where the bathrooms were? Could they reserve a campsite? And it became funny and crazy and I knew not to think every time was the end of it.

In fact, I am sure it will not stop until we pull out of here. We will miss the beach, but we won’t miss the lack of Steve.

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What is going on today? We are still trying to narrow down our rescue pick which will keep us in Oregon for this week.  Don’t worry, sometimes our rescue work is not so predictable, but it is one of the main reasons for this trip.  We want to pick the right one to highlight to our fans, and a lot of behind the scenes parts make up this aspect of the Adventure Of A Lifetime.  Thank you for your patience, but my patience actually is a little worn thin.  Please.  Don’t knock on the door.

-Sheriff Peanut Butter Brickle

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