After three months, three Continents, and three pair of underwear, we reunite with Jack the dog in a total lick and hug fest. He looks happy and strong, and it is hard for my folks to part with him. “Buck up, Jack, your pampered days are over.” Mare and Jack and I pile in to the truck to camp New England this fall.
I am not allowed in Connecticut. Or I probably shouldn’t be. We have never seen so many rules in campgrounds and beaches: No Pets, No Fires, No Alcohol…might as well say, “No fun for Ron and Mare and Jack.”
No worries, we find a way to break all the rules without landing in jail.
Jack gets his first taste of the Atlantic Ocean in none other than historic Jamestown. Drive around the coastal mansions of Newport before lunch of lobster rolls and raw oysters.
Finally we find a dog friendly town where you can even take your pet into the bank. Provincetown, Mass is so charming that we extend our campsite. We are not shoppers, but the street of interesting shops and people make the place magical.
We bring fresh little-neck clams to shuck at the campsite, a perfect precursor to sautéed scallops and oysters. Camping makes good food affordable, and there is nothing like waking up in the woods. You feel remote, yet civilization is only five minutes away.
“Provincetown is 60% gay,” a man on the street tells me. “It’s really nice to be able to be yourself. You should see July and August…every day is a party and Main Street is like a gay parade.”
“Yes, my wife and I really like it here. It is so dog friendly.”
“Oh, you’re too good looking to be straight.”
I haven’t been hit on in a long time. I shrug my shoulders and say, “What’re you going to do?” At least I didn’t look at my feet and say, “Aw shucks.”
Eventually, he asks if I have any spare dollars. Guess it was not just my good looks that attracted him.
“All I have is a credit card.”
“Well, I have a perfect place for you to swipe it.”
It’s time to find Mare.
Back at camp Jack retrieves sticks in the Atlantic. He runs like a puppy. Grandma and Grandpa took excellent care of him this past summer, walking him every day, and it shows. He swims every morning now that we are out of Connecticut. Ron Mitchell
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