Before I move too far from Santa Fe, you should know about Otis. Otis is a Pug mix, a Puix. I won’t tell you much about him because this note is about our journey toward home. But just look at this picture. This is Otis.

I believe you can see this rock formation in the Bisti/De-Na-Zin Wilderness near Bloomfield which is near Farmington, New Mexico where we spent Tuesday night. Thank goodness, Farmington has a Starbucks. We will need it Wednesday morning.

But, this picture is an example of what it felt to me being at Otis’s house. I’m that little mountain under the rock named Otis. This Pug made his position of priority very clear throughout our month’s stay at “his” home. You’ve heard the word pugilist? Those first three letters? Pug. I did enjoy his fenced yard (when he wasn’t in it), and our casita had a small courtyard of its own. But Otis rules. Enough said, yes?

No! Not enough. You may know my favorite play companion is my battered Chipmunk. Chipmunk is by design a stuffed squeak-less squirrel but we can’t use that word because I know about real squirrels. So, Chipmunk made the trip with us. My mom and I were playing catch in Otis’s back yard. My mom’s a terrible tosser.

Here’s my human sister, Kim, retrieving Chipmunk right after my mom tossed it onto the roof, but before the rainstorm began.  Whew! What are travel stories without pictures.

Tuesday 9-26-23 We are on our way home. My dad’s still pretty weak so my mom drives. That means that while the two hundred miles we covered Tuesday took us away from major highways and through rock formations that caused my parents to marvel, we got to Farmington more quickly than had my dad been driving.

I slept in my car chair while we moved through high desert highways 84, 68, 550, 64 (maybe not in that order) through vast open ground, and an occasional spot of civilization. And when I say “spot,” I mean that in the time it takes to say the word, the spot was gone. Those required 35mph speed zones around spots lasted longer. Nothing, folks, nothing but the stunning natural world for miles and miles. Then finally, Farmington.

It may not be important to report but it is truth. I upchucked on the way to Farmington. My dad washed my car seat, and there has been no repeat of such an incident since.

This, you need know. There was a Starbucks in Farmington just .02 miles from our lovely accommodation. Only, even with a diligent search, we couldn’t find it. Can’t find a Starbucks?! Just couldn’t. So we left Farmington planning, you know, to catch one along the way . . .

My mom wants you to know that at least one stretch of 300 miles exists in American WITHOUT A SINGLE STARBUCKS! My mom’s coffee mug stayed empty for that entire day’s drive.

September 27- 28, ‘23. PRICE, UTAH

My parents got cookies here at the Price hotel. I got a packet with poop bags and four Milk Bones. That was nice, but as everyone Gig Harbor, Washington knows, I don’t like Milk Bones. And neither parent would share their cookies. I did, however, get some of my dad’s broccoli.

Price seems a strange name for a coal mining town, unless it means we are paying a price for coal mining. But, I’m wrong. The town was named for a Mormon bishop who explored the area in the 19th century. The Price Water Company irrigation canal, built in 1888, is still used today. That’s remarkable, don’t you think? Something so well built that it lasts over a hundred years?

And this ― Price, with a population just over 8000, may well be the most citizen diverse town in Utah, given that early on, building railroads and opening coal mines brought foreign-born immigrants to town. Greeks, Italians, Austrians, and Japanese people came to Price and stayed. So, if you want your stereotype of a Utah town blown to bits, come to the most culturally diverse town in Utah ― Price.

We, however, will be leaving Thursday morning after first making a stop at Starbucks. We are on our way to Twin Falls, Idaho. But first, we have to find Starbucks. There is no Starbucks in Price, Utah.