My name is Lexie. I’m a rescued bullmastiff and a full-time RVer. My pack mom writes blogs about the fluffy travel stuff she does and pack leader dad makes videos on all the gadgets. They always get the spotlight in our RV life, and now I want some attention. I’m capable of so much more than laying around looking pretty and baptizing my loved ones with drool.
People ask my humans if I like the RV life. They wonder how I travel and if I’m happy. They also ask what I do all day.
To be honest, I have life kind of hard on most days. Mom is high maintenance. She greets me every morning by squishing my jowls and talking to me with a high pitched, “Good morning, Lexie Bear. How’s my sweet puppy dog?” Okay, the voice grates on my nerves and the baby talk is annoying, but she gives really good belly rubs, pats my sides, and massages my ears. She also feeds me and makes sure I have lots of fresh water. She’s slow getting around in the morning when I’m ready to go outside and explore. She turns on that grindee thing that makes something called coffee while I have to patiently wait for her to take me outside. She gets dressed, gets her shoes on, and leashes me up for our walk. I try to sit quietly while she does all this, but the excited and powerful swish of my tail often gives me away.
Since our house is on wheels, we seldom have the same yard twice. It’s my job making sure other neighborhood dogs know my territory. I let my bladder fill to capacity and then exercise careful self control to make sure the perimeter is covered. Sometimes, a dog just has to take her time, you know? I have to scope out the neighbors so I can keep my humans safe.
There are so many luscious smells. A poodle here, a boxer there. A German shepherd marked it’s territory in site 75–it’s a boy, too, so I’ll prance pretty when we walk by. The great dane in site 78 has an interesting smell. He might be friends-with-benefits material, too. One of those yappy chihuahua dogs lives in site 82, a Pomeranian in 85, and a shih-tzu in 87. To be honest, those little barkers scare me–it’s tricky to deal with the Napoleon syndrome. Those Pomeranians and shih-tzu bow-wows are all glamour and pretty faces, but I need a dog with substance. Oh, hello, Mr. English Mastiff in site 92. That’s what I’m talkin’ about. I want to put my nose to the ground and linger around his scent, but Mom is pulling on my leash.
Mom gets a little frustrated with me and says in a firm voice, “Lexie, just poop already!” I wish she would understand things can’t always be rushed, and often I’m shy. I can’t poop just anywhere. I have to find the perfect spot. There it is. Ahhh. Now that I’ve scoped out the neighborhood and performed my morning constitutional, I’m ready to go home. I’m a hefty girl, I get tired going all that distance, but I have to wait until Mom gets the baggie-things out to pick up my masterpiece.
Back at home, it’s pretty chill during the day. Mom might go on an adventure or work on her computer. Dad works ALL DAY. He doesn’t have time to pet me because he’s talking on the phone. So I lay on my deluxe comfy memory foam mattress and take wonderful long naps. Sometimes Dad nudges me when I’m having a really good dream. I bark in my sleep. Sometimes I snore too loud. Other times he simply gags over my excessive gas production.
I love lunch time. Mom’s a pushover. All I have to do is look at her, tilt my head, and perk my ears. She gets all gushy, “Oh, Lexie. That face.” She again squishes my jowls and slips me a piece of cheese, a carrot, or a bussels sprout. Some days, the look works on Dad, too–he might give me a little piece of sausage or even a chunk of hotdog. Lunch can be yummy if I use my doggie wiles to my advantage. If they don’t slip me something delicious, I’ll plop on my bed with a giant “humph” and go back to sleep.
Finally, Dad gets off work. He barbecues supper outside and I go with him. Once in a while, I don’t have to be on my leash, and other times I have to be tied in our camping spot. It really doesn’t matter because I love Dad and I’d stay by him no matter what. Well, unless the English mastiff walks by.
In the evening, it’s snuggle time with Mom and Dad. If I give them my pitiful face and put my droopy chin on Mom’s leg, they’ll let me sit between them. I usually butt up to Mom so I can rest my head on Dad. Other times I sit or lay down nearby, especially if one of my girls, Uncle Paddy, a new RV neighbor, or someone else comes by to visit. I love it when we have visitors. Dad says it’s bad manners to slime them with slobber. I am a bullmastiff, though, and sometimes it happens by accident.
I save my dog food for the very last minute of the day, just in case Mom and Dad decide to slip me something yummy. Once in a while, I get soup broth with beef bits and carrots. If they make a pork roast, I get a small dipper of the delicious juice. Mom makes me scrambled eggs once in a while.
Bedtime is the best time of day. There’s final outside time with Dad. Mom and Dad’s bed is too high for me to jump up and join them, so I sleep a few feet away on my comfy doggie bed. As soon as I hear Dad snoring, I hop up on the couch where I hunker down for the night listening for boogey men and dreaming about the English mastiff in site 92.
All of my days are wonderful. My people are in my sight all the time and I can keep them safe. They take me on adventures when dogs are allowed, and once in a while I get valuable alone time to nap without interruption.
What about those travel days? Mom and dad put my bed between the motorhome seats. Sometimes I sit up and watch where we’re headed, and other times the soft vibration of the road lulls me to sleep. When we get to our new destination, there are a myriad of smells to investigate.
I hope there’s an English mastiff in the next campground.
I love my RV life. I love being an RV dog.
P.S. Please do not support puppy mills and inhumane breeders. Rescue a loyal friend today. I promise he or she will rescue YOU.
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