Max at Fogarty Creek on the Oregon Coast Vomiting in the Camper

Dateline January 9th 2013……

Fond remembrances of growing up in Oregon in the Willamette Valley and Vacationing on the Oregon Coast in the 60’s. We had a Dachsund named Max….a massive semi obese…standard size animal with a tremendous appetite. The camping vehicle was a volkswagen camper – with 4 children – this was not much room. Two semi-competent parents.

Dachshund

It was  AM on the Oregon Coast and it was pouring down rain, not biblical but getting there. Everyone was trapped in the Camper parked in the parking lot of Fogarty Creek State Park  south of Lincoln City, except for Max. Max had been out for a couple of hours roaming the beach eating dead seagulls, crab carcasses, seaweed, old shells and the stray rotting fish. Max’s stomach was practically dragging on the ground stuffed with all the glorious rotting things he could find, things he couldn’t find at home in Salem.

Max came back off the beach and was let into the family camper. It was not many minutes and Max began to gag and his stomach muscles were writhing…it went on for only 1 or 2 minutes but time seemed to expand. My three siblings then started gagging. Then Max began to disgorge onto the floor of the volkswagen camper, wave after wave of dead carcasses and chewed up seaweed.  The Un-godly tsunami of rotting oceanic bits hurtled forward across the floor, somewhat like a mudslide, and slopped it’s way up the wall. Then my siblings all began vomiting and disgorging all over the camper…the smell was one of those things that stays with you.

I imagine that every child that has ever grown up in Oregon has a story like this but a little bit different.

Story continued or how Max met his end: I was forced against my will to go to Sunday school. My Parents felt guilty about church so we were dropped off and picked up at the Church. Sunday school was not a weekly event but occurred on an irregular pattern that went like this: About every 3 weeks my Parents felt guilty about our religious upbringing and attempted to get us to Sunday School by 9:30, we, the children, attempted to thwart the process by hiding our Sunday School clothes since you had to have those (In hindsite we should have just thrown them out with the trash). This hiding of the clothes worked about 50 percent of the time so we really only had to go to Sunday School once every six weeks. It was on one of those Sundays that we had to go that my Father ran over Max with the Volkswagen camper as he lounged in the Driveway. My father was never very good with the pets.