Hot Dog!

It was 1975 when I turned eight years old. My family moved from New York to Minnesota. My Mother, Father, two sisters, and our Saint Bernard travelled across country on yet another new adventure. This was to become my fifth home for no other reason than my Father was a restless soul I suppose.

It took two days to make the trek fortunately although it really would have just been a day trip but I suppose the incessant “Are we there yet?” probably prompted the overnight stay in that roadside motel. Three kids in one bed, Mom and Dad in another and the family dog in the bathroom.

The morning would prove to be most amusing as my father took a prolonged steamy shower with the space heater on maximum overdrive converting that motel bathroom into a sauna. A rattle and rumpus rose from the bathroom culminating in the bursting open of that sauna door. Out ran our family Saint Bernard hind end ablaze with my fully naked Father in pursuit attempting to put the fire out with a towel. Fortunately he succeeded and promptly covered himself up which was a visual I really didn’t need.

Apparently the dog sat too close to that space heater and her fur caught on fire. What a stench filled the motel room.