When you’re accustomed to a choice of three different beds and access to a decent sized backyard, hours in the car can be a challenge. Having been denied access to such privileges, you have one choice left: sleep.

As you sleep, you creep. Slowly into the front seat, inching quietly in, hoping your human will not notice your change in position.

The vehicle carries you west while you snore, traveling through Olney and Mergargel and Seymour and Munday. In Munday, you take a break from the vehicle and walk around the town square, or what’s left of it.

After Munday, the sun goes down. But you don’t notice because you’re strategically moving your body forward. Your attempts to claim shotgun so far have not been successful. But this might be your chance. The darkness could cause your human to forget your bed is in the backseat.

Bugs have disruptively splattered themselves across your human’s windshield, blocking what might be a nice sunset. But you’re not concerned with the scenic parts of the drive. You just want to keep your eyes open long enough to focus on your mission: get in that passenger seat.

Finally, the vehicle slows down. This unsettles you, and you bark. If you could speak you would say “where are we what are we doing why am I here who am I”. But you can only bark, disturbing all the residents in a quiet apartment complex in a desolate west Texas town.

Inside, you find a familiar human and a welcoming environment. Human even allows you to relax on it’s sitting devices. You are happy. Happiness = slumber.

When you wake up in the unfamiliar-but-comfortable place with the familiar human, you stretch. Then you bark. Familiar human opens a portal, and you sniff the tiny yard. There’s no grass here. No squirrels. No toys.

The day has barely started and you find yourself in the same space that seems to be constantly moving. You can never get comfortable because there’s always movement, back and forth.

Eventually, you sleep. What else is there to do?

You’re not that interested in this colorful alleyway in the town of Clovis, New Mexico. In fact, you’d prefer it had more green grass and less dirt. But your human likes something about it – the colors, the shadows, the isolation of downtown on a weekday morning.

The next stop is not an improvement from the colorful alleyway. But it’s a break from the moving space and gives you time to stretch your bones while your human explores walls without ceilings or insides.

The moving space continues west. And you do what you do. You have not achieved official shotgun privileges, but your human has compromised. You can lay your head over the console, and that is comfortable enough.

When you awake from your slumber you look around and see only wide open spaces. A land that goes on forever.

Your human says you’ll be there soon but you’re not convinced. Given the view, how would it be possible you’d arrive anywhere anytime anyplace?

The next stop, the landscape has changed. You find yourself wandering through desolate terrain with crunchy white grass. ”Where is the green fluffy grass from your past?”, you wonder as you tiptoe through the new landscape. This is not good.

“Only one more hour …” you hear your human say – but what does that mean? When will you put your paws on green grass? Chase squirrels? Your future is out of your control.

There’s not much to see as you approach your new home. A highway, just like any other highway. Another road. You’ve seen so many roads. Your human recites the benefits: clear skies, less pollution, more of the crunchy white stuff, mountains, mountains, mountains. But why do you care about mountains?

All of a sudden, you’re where you’re supposed to be. For now. Forever home? Probably not. But it’s worth a sniff. The floors aren’t soft and the outside space is not green and full of squirrels, but you start to get used to the smells. You start to breathe in less polluted air. Your humans take you on long walks in the places they referred to as mountains, and yes, you must admit. It’s not so bad.

You miss the ones you left behind. Their smells are fading as you get used to new ones. You understand your humans miss the ones they left behind also. Together, you’ll get used to your new place. Maybe one day you’ll return.