by Christine Lorraine

Created on: June 27, 2008   Last Updated: December 22, 2010

On our way out the door to begin our doggone holiday, we waved good-bye to our trusty dog Maxine, who regarded our departure with her usual I-love-you-so-much-please-don't-go expression.

It was my husband's idea to hop in the van that memorable spring afternoon to "drive somewhere far away and stay overnight."  Spontaneity is exhilirating, especially when it's genuinely intended to make your heart beat a little faster, so I found his suggestive suggestion to be quite exciting.

The image of us voluntarily stranded in some remote motel room far off the beaten path stirred something romantic in me. "When do we leave?" I asked eagerly.

He smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. "How about right now?"

As soon as his words were uttered I began to dash madly around the house, grabbing essential things like the cell phone charger, clean underwear, a camera, a well worn deck of pinochle cards, and a handful of DVD movies in case we accidentally ended up in a semi-luxurious room equipped with a DVD player.

As the abovementioned assortment of odds and ends were being frantically stuffed into the first suitcase unlucky enough to cross my overzealous path, my husband snuck up behind me with a question he sometimes asks.

"What's all that stuff for?"

"Just a couple of things to do in case we get bored," I answered as nonchalantly as possible.

Grinning with anticipated delight he replied, "Oh, I doubt if we'll get bored."

As we were backing out of the driveway an important thought struck me and I shouted, "Stop! We forgot to feed the dog!"

Maxine wagged her tail happily when I placed the bowl of food in front of her. As I slipped back out the door, I felt relieved that we hadn't overlooked the needs of this wonderful, loyal and loving animal. That's when something perplexing occurred to me - how would the dog get outside to do her business for the next 24 hours?

Fifty miles and one hour later, the dog looked a little van sick.

"Do you think we should pull over and let Maxine run around a little bit?" I asked anxiously.

We located a clearing by the side of the road and let our 80-pound black dog refresh herself while we sank deeper into the murky swamp of doubt.

"Do you really think this is going to work?" His question hovered thickly. I quickly calculated the odds of the dog peacefully existing all night in the van alone in a strange place. As usual, I was a willing victim of my own optimism. "I'm sure she'll be fine."

Dusk was creeping across the dazzling evening sky as we

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