An old Dog, an old Man in an old Truck

When I was sixteen, in nineteen sixty seven, I became homeless. My father was abusive so my mother left. My brother and sister had already moved out so I was left alone which Clarence. I  took it for two weeks before I packed a few things into a small bag walked out to the highway and stuck out my thumb. For the next three years I was homeless. Some mornings I would wake up with no money and no food. But somehow I never went to sleep hungry. I hitchhiked across the country met many people people saw many sites listened to some great music and then at age nineteen settled down got a job and a place to live. Other than a short stint in the Texas prison system for smoking marijuana, I have worked and rented or owned a home ever since. But things happened to us all. We get old. We make bad decisions. We Trust. And sometimes we become homeless again. In many ways being homeless is a form of freedom. No more worries about furnaces or water heaters or broken pipes or stopped up toilets...

This old dog is Duchess. She's 11. I'm Larry. I'm 66. That's pretty old too. We are as close to homeless as you can be without living under a bridge due to circumstances beyond our control. Thankfully we have a very good friend who is allowing us to live in his garage in Texas. Since we can't stay here forever, We've decided to take a nice adventure and go back to Colorado from whence we came and spend the summer camping. There are many places we've been and many we never have and are looking forward to. We will spend fourteen days here and fourteen days there. This is our truck. We call it old blue. Old blue is a 2002 Ford F-150 pickup that we bought used from a friend of a friend. The camper shell came from Craigslist for an incredibly low price. I put down a carpet and built a shelf bed in the back so we can sleep in there if necessary. We have an eight person tent and a three person tent, several tarps, a nice old Coleman stove, a small p...