Going to the dogs in Kansas City

Isabella and the lap whore

Isabella is the daughter of my oldest nephew, Cory. Isabella, like many children these days, splits her time between her mother's house and her dad's. Happily for me Isabella was with her dad during my visit. My first night in Kansas City, I picked Isabella up from a play date at one of her classmate's house. Cory had a business dinner. Cory's brother, Coby, lives in Kansas City too. I had already hooked up with him earlier in the day and he had errands to run so he was not with us. Cory's partner, Suzanne, was at a social function, so Isabella and I had the evening together.

I had already been impressed with the twin's verbal skills. I had seen Isabella only a few months before at a family reunion in Alabama so had a more recent sense of her. Even so, I was similarly impressed with what a wise child is my nine-year old niece. We had a very engaging conversation about her school, her friends, and her very thorough view of the world. When Suzanne got home Isabella had her bath and fell asleep watching TV in her room. Turns out, I was lucky to have had the opportunity to visit one-on-one; because Suzanne announced - to Isabella's delight and my less-than-optimistic anticipation - that tomorrow they were getting a new dog. A four-month old daschund puppy who may or may not be house broken. I went to bed hoping for the best but expecting to be on guard for accidents the rest of the visit.

Isabella rampant on the field

Well, the new dog is adorable and house broken. It took him about fifteen minutes to move in. I nicknamed him lap whore because he automatically goes for the nearest seated person and hops right up. He adores Isabella, and she adores him. He adores Suzanne and Suzanne is most adoring and caring. He adores Cory. He adores Coby. Actually, I did not see him not adore anybody he came in contact with.

I took advantage of my time in Kansas City to have the oil changed in the car, and attempt to find the source of a mildly annoying high-pitched whir that manifests at highway speeds, some times but not consistently, and only when I am alone i the car. Of course with such a precise description and a test drive demonstration with the mechanic, of the fact that it only happens when I am alone in the car it was a snap to fix. If there had been anything fixable, but there wasn't, except the battery was gone.

As we were walking into the office to do paperwork, another Sebring pulled up and I heard the whir. I grabbed the mechanic and took him to hear it.

"It's the alternator," he said. "Perfectly normal in your car. Although the battery being so weak, it could be working the alternator harder." Made sense to me, and besides, I hadn't heard it since I got into KC.

Coby and I went off to meet Suzanne at their local Cheers. I picked up the car with a new battery a few hours later. Case closed.

The rest of the weekend visit was a pleasant montage of soccer games, museum outings, and hanging out with Isabella, the lap whore, my nephews, and their friends. On Sunday morning I said my good-byes and headed for Highlands, NC. The drive on route 64 was East Coast scenic. Long stretches of Cherokee National Forest on the verge of erupting in fall color along curvy roads that hugged the river. It was another beautiful day with a clear sky and the silence of open country. Except for a mildly annoying high-pitched whir that manifests at highway speeds, some times but not consistently, and only when I am alone i the car.