Nation’s lonesome travellers sick of telling wayward dogs to “g’on now, get” - The Beaverton

Nation’s lonesome travellers sick of telling wayward dogs to “g’on now, get”

BOXCAR JUNCTION – In a rare break from nomadic life, the nation’s lonesome travellers assembled today inside a moving freight car they all hopped into, to declare they are sick of telling wayward to “beat it,” ”scram,” and “g’on now, get.”

The loose confederacy of lone men and women claim that for centuries their quests for inner freedom has been hindered by the appearance of stray dogs who appear seemingly out of nowhere and at the most inopportune times.

“Usually after I take a long sip of my canteen, stare into the blazing midday sun, and say ‘Well I reckon it’s bout time I head out yonder,’ I’ll look down to find a mangy mutt of unknown origin,” recounted midwest wanderer Hank Cogburn. “At first I didn’t think much of it but there’s only so many times you can send a pooch out into the cold dark night without it weighin’ on ya,”

The assembled travellers went on to explain that the dogs often interfere with their day-to-day activities which include pondering the isolation and harshness of wilderness, reflecting on the righteous self-determination of man, and sniffing an apple pie as it cools on a window sill.

“I came out here to get away from civilization and connect with my inner self,” said longtime backpacker Celeste Dales. “How am I supposed to do that when every night a Schnauzer appears, cocks his head to the side, and gingerly puts his paw on my lap as if to say ‘so long as you’re alive you can never really be alone’?”

While the seemingly miraculous presence of dog can prove beneficial, many voyagers argue, after a while, they have no choice but to toss their plate of baked beans into the fire out of frustration and say “why don’t you high tail it out of here pal, I work alone.”

“I sure did appreciate the labrador who pulled me out of the rapids last week but I just didn’t expect him to stick around so long after,” said semi-professional rambler Llewellyn Edwards. “Just ‘cause I look like a Preston Sturgess-esque hobo with my bindle and fingerless gloves don’t mean I can’t have a serious and debilitating dog allergy.”

Experts can’t say for certain how the stray dogs consistently find the travellers, though one theory stands out. “It’s the jerky. The dogs can smell beef jerky for miles and they all carry an insane amount of it,” said researcher Dr. Seth Martens. “Not to mention some of their harmonicas can reach the dog whistle octave.”

At press time, the traveller’s gripes were drowned out by a cacophonous chorus of panting as a roving pack of feral dogs began chasing and hopping into the freight car, once again forcing companionship onto the nation’s most lonesome travellers.