Venga has developed the strange habit of climbing up over the backseat and squishing herself against the rear window of the car, whenever we're in it. For any period of time. Ever.
It made a lot more sense when she was a puppy. That was often the sunniest spot and she could easily fit between the headrests. Now, as she's quite a bit bigger, it takes some fancy footwork and careful maneuvering to get her whole body up there, but still she manages to make it look comfortable.
One night last summer while I was double parked outside one of the bars downtown -- and when I say "downtown," please know that I am referring to the one strip of dive bars in one of the two non-dry towns this island has to offer, bars with names like "The Ritz" and "The Rare Duck" and "Seasons" (definitely a top pick if you're in the mood for pinball or karaoke,) but I digress -- anyway that's where I was, double parked and waiting for the Boy to pick up some take-out Thai, when a pair of drunken collegiates stumbled past the car, spotted Venga all curled up in her nook, and started slurring sympathies along the lines of: "Omigoddddd! That pooor dog! She must be suffocating" and "I think that's, like, puppy abuse. Isn't it?"
The window was down and I should have said something, but the boy was back by then and I was hungry.
I did, however, wonder about that bump when I started reversing. It's kind of hard to watch out for underage sorority sisters swerving down Main Street with this in your rear-view mirror:
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