I Don't Wanna Go Home

I Don’t Wanna Go Home

by Ken Goree

My daughter, Carly, had begged for months to go on a camping trip with me; just a father and daughter adventure.  I am a teacher, and she had the same spring break as me, so the timing was right. 

It was just April, which in Western Washington means most of the outdoors is still coated in a lovely, spongy blanket of emerald green moss and algae. 

Carly and I decided to go east of the mountains to find a drier climate.  Our destination was the Mardon Resort, on the Potholes Reservoir.  We had been there for several fabulous trips in previous years.

The second week of April, Carly and I loaded up our gear and little black and white mop of a dog, Jaicy, and headed east. 

“Carly, are you…achoo…ready to…achoo…go?”

“What, Dad?”

“Are you ready to go?” I repeated.

By the end of the drive, I had finally come to the conclusion that one of my students had given me a cold for a spring break present. 

Carly and I checked into the campground and set up the tent.  The moment we finished that, the flinty grey sky opened up and it began to rain.  So much for a drier climate. 

Carly was a good sport about my cold.  She played at the resort playground in the rain, while I curled up in my sleeping bag, with my head hanging outside the tent.  I wanted to be able to keep at least one bloodshot eye on her as she played. 

I didn’t find out until the next day that I should have stayed in bed.

When the rain tapered off to a drizzle we took our little dog for a hike into the desert.  The three of us climbed up and down basalt cliffs, pushed our way through sage brush and squished through mud in places where water had seeped through the O’Sullivan Dam. 

We were having a great time until the mosquitoes, gnats, and midges attacked.  The bugs had let us slip by so that they could close in from behind as a living wall of insectile malice. That finished the hike for us.  When the bugs are so thick you can’t inhale, it’s time to turn back.

Returning to camp there was a new challenge to face.  Peter, an eight-year-old boy, decided to hang out with us.  After breaking several pieces of our camp equipment, I finally located his family’s campsite and returned him to his proper environment.

Soon after, Carly and I went into the tent for what we hoped would be a comfortable night’s sleep.  It was cooling down quickly, but we had our winter sleeping bags.  We expected to be warm and toasty.  What we didn’t count on was a monsoon and a hole made by the canvas hungry mice in my garage. 

Late in the evening, the rain started again.  It came down so hard I mistook it for passenger jets taking off from the Moses Lake Airport.  Around midnight, my daughter informed me that her sleeping bag was wet.  I had her move to my side because most of the stream that was rushing through our tent was staying on the side where Carly had been sleeping. 

Then our soggy dog Jaicy decided that she needed to sleep inside my sleeping bag with me.  I finished the night warm, but not comfortable. 

By morning, the weather had cleared.  I should have known something was wrong. 

We shared a sumptuous Captain Crunch Breakfast, while Jaicy was cuddled up next to me on the wooden picnic bench.  As I petted her, I felt a small lump down under her fur. 

Curiosity being one of my stronger instincts, I checked to see what is was.  “Uhhhgg! A tick!”  I almost squealed out loud.  In all the times we had been to the Mardon Resort we had never seen ticks. 

As I looked over her body some more, I found more, and looked more and found more and on and on and on.  My little puppy was covered with the things. 

Then I remembered that Jaicy had slept in my sleeping bag with me.  “Uhggg!!!”  Again, I almost squealed.  I would have if Carly hadn’t been there.  What I did do was shudder violently for several minutes. 

Next, I frantically checked my body over; completely confident I would find hundreds of little black vampires latched on to my flesh.  Not a one.  I couldn’t believe it.  Then I thought.  Oh no.  They want younger, tenderer meat.  They’ll be all over Carly. 

“Dad, what are you looking for?” Carly asked as I scanned her arms and legs.

“Little bugs that bite people sometimes.”

“Oh, like when the nurse at school checks us for lice?”

“Ya, something like that.  I’ll check your hair in a minute.”

“Okay,” Carly said.

I checked Carly over and…nothing.  I was in a happy state of confusion.  After giving her a clean bill of health, I showed her one of the ticks from the dog. 

I checked in the tent and found a tick crawling up the wet nylon wall.  I figured I couldn’t damage the tent anymore than it already had been by the mice, so I used my hatchet to take care of that tick without a single shudder.  Then I checked in my sleeping bag.  Three of them were crawling around inside (some shuddering was involved) so I checked myself over again.  Still nothing.

Carly, Jaicy and I jumped into the van and took a trip to the nearest feed store, 30 miles away.  I bought some flea and tick drops for the dog, and I asked the girl at the counter what I should do about the ticks that were already on the dog.  I had heard you weren’t supposed to pull ticks directly off the skin, so I hadn’t. 

“Oh, go ahead and pull those critters off.  It’s okay with this kind.” 

“How come I didn’t get bit?”

“This type don’t like people so much,” she said.

“The feeling is mutual,” I replied as I turned away and tried not to shudder.

Removing the ticks from Jaicy’s neck, body, and legs was a revolting job.  However, it was a little satisfying too.  I dropped them onto the warm parking lot asphalt as I pulled each loose.  I intended to run over them with the van when we drove away.

When we arrived back at the campsite, I figured we’d be packing up to go home.  After all, we had been soaked, almost frozen, subjected to Peter’s vandalism, and had narrowly escaped being tick food.  I was ready to go home.  Enough was enough.

“Dad, what are you doing?” Carly said to me as I was starting to take the tent down.

“Packing up, Sweetie.  I thought you would want to go home.”

“But I like camping with you, Dad.  Can’t we stay another night?  Something always happens when I’m with you.  I just can’t wait to see what’s going to be next.”

 “Whatever you want, Princess.”

 “Achooo!”  I grabbed a sleeping bag that had been drying in the afternoon breeze and wrapped it around myself.  Then I began to shake with the fever and chills of the cold that had been a spring break present from one of my students.