Several times a year we take Homer to Bude in Cornwall (UK) where we keep a caravan in storage (sound impressive but you haven't seen the caravan...)
All it takes to wind Homer up is any mixture of words with a 'caravan' 'seaside' 'do you want to go?'. Actually 'do you want to go...(substitute any word here)' is guaranteed to get Homer bouncing off the top of your head, banging the lead on the hook and barking until he gets his spolit little way.
Homer and Barley like nothing better than scratching the paint off my rear bumper as they dive into the back of my dog carrier (my car doesn't have humans in it, would need fumigating first)
Then we drive 24.2 miles (this is a new record) before Homer decides he can stop barking for a while as maybe we are in for one of them long haul trips...
Another 180 miles of life threatening motorcyclists (to Homer anyway) traffic jams where everyone is a potential
enemy and we arrive at the mansion (the caravan).
After 3 hours confinement (4/5 hours if any police are reading this, as obviously I wouldn't be speeding) Homer is bouncing..He wants to play on the dog run, he wants the beach, he wants food, he wants to rip the head of the terrier in the caravan next door... It is usually a case of making the bed up as it's late and stuffing as many dog treats down his neck to placate him until the morning.
Homer then settles for a pleasant nights sleep. In normal circumstances it is fine that Homer actually has a liking for laying diagonally (he must be on the right hand side of the bed with his head on the pillow. Forget to mention Homer not only has ocd in his legs, it appears to be in his brain as well), unfortunately in a 4ft and 5ft bed with another lab trying to squeeze into a 12 inch square at the bottom, it's always an interesting nights sleep. I usually wake up in the morning with no duvet, 2 inch of bed and a frozen arse
Next morning I check the tides and we head off to the beach, armed with 20 carrier bags for doggy duties, 1 floating neoprene ring, 2 Mr Squeaks (Homers best buddy in the world)
1 bottle of tap water to dilute the 3 tonnes of ocean he is going to swallow, and more doggy treats in case bribery is required. Which it generally is..
Homer loves the beach, however he thinks he has sole rights to it, so no other animal is allowed on his territory.
After ripping my legs (and a couple of small dogs) to shreds for a couple of enjoyable hours, we pack up and go back to the van.
A detour is taken so that we can go via the Cornish Pasty shop, and a quick trip into bakery to supress Homer's cream tea addiction (he doesn't tend to calorie count on his holidays)
Other things I've noticed when we're down there is I'm sure he develops a kind of twangy cornish bark (and he seems glued to BBC Radio Cornwall)
If I could get him to carry a Cornish Piskey around maybe the Tourist Board could use him to promote Cornwall, as he is rather fond of most Cornish traditions. Give him an apron and a bit of pocket money and he would be boiling up the jam and selling it at the local fetes.
In fact Homer is ALWAYS hungry. He doesn't actually chew anything it just slides down whole. If anyone tells you a labrador is a rubbish bin on legs, listen to them. It is a scientifically proved fact.
Anyway, after a little afternoon siesta (more diagonal bed napping) a leisurely stroll to the village pub normally rounds off the day - this consists of scratching the polished wood bar until he catches the landlords eye and get his absolute right to his chew stick. Then a further 2 hours under the table dreaming of killer waves, another dog on the beach, Barley getting to his treat before him (it's never actually happened, but obviously he has nightmares sometimes) and farting little quiet sneaky ones, which actually stink, probably due to the 3 bags of cheese and onion crisps he has devoured over the night
Then it is back to triangle bed, and another 6 days of pretty much the same thing. There are a couple of deviations to the days itinerary, sometimes we go to the woods instead of/and the beach, and now and again we have steak and onion pasties rather than Cornish - we like to be reckless sometimes as we are on holiday
End of the week consists of scrubbing up enough dog hair to make a pack of labradors, turfing the pair of them into the back of the car, setting the mileometer and waiting for the first 24 miles to pass before i can take the ear plugs out....
