My father and I once took my first boat, drove down Interstate 80 to a turnoff with a boat ramp on the John Day River, put the boat in the water and went up John Day Arm, a drowned portion of the John Day River where it dumps into the Columbia.
We caught some fish and pitched a tent above the shore, and, after dark built a fire on the shore where we sat and drank cans of Blitz-Weinhard
Coincidentally, that was the name of the dog that shared my life for so many years and so many hunting trips.
I have never lived with another dog.
A lot of cats, though.
And I switched from beer to Bells Up rosé.