Roam-Meter: 60% (A Good Day) Vehicle: The 4Runner ("The Rumbler")
The Descent from the Mountain
The morning air was crisp as Big Daddy turned the key in The Rumbler. The 4Runner roared to life with its signature vibration, a mechanical purr that Dewey usually met with an excited spin. Today, the Roam-Meter was sitting at a solid 60%—not a world-beating number, but more than enough for a local run.
They started the journey by turning onto Highway 8, winding their way down the mountain. The Rumbler lived up to its name, bouncing over the familiar dips in the asphalt. Dewey had his head out the window, his ears flapping like twin flags in the wind, gauging the scent of the valley below.
The Pit Stop
As they rolled into the heart of McMinnville, the town was humming with its usual midday rhythm. Big Daddy steered the 4Runner into the Sonic drive-in, the tires crunching over the pavement.
"One large Ocean Water, please," Big Daddy said into the speaker.
A few minutes later, he was handed that glowing, bright blue elixir. He took a long sip, the cold coconut-lime flavor hitting just right. Dewey, meanwhile, stared intensely at the ice cubes, convinced that if he looked at them hard enough, one might telepathically teleport into his mouth. Big Daddy chuckled, popped a nugget of ice into the air, and watched Dewey catch it with a satisfying crunch.
The Roar of Twin Falls
They made their way out toward Rock Island. The Rumbler took the turns with its usual rugged charm, eventually pulling into the overlook area near Twin Falls.
The moment Big Daddy opened the door, the sound hit them—a heavy, relentless roar of white water crashing over the limestone tiers. Dewey hit the ground and immediately began a frantic dialogue with the river.
“Woof! Ruff-ruff!” To Dewey, the water was moving far too fast. It was suspicious. It was aggressive. It needed to be told off. He paced the edge of the overlook, his tail stiff, barking at the "speeding" water as if he were a furry traffic cop handing out citations to the Caney Fork River.
The Clock and the Cast
Big Daddy grabbed his fishing pole from the back of the 4Runner. "Ease up, Dewey. It’s just gravity," he muttered, finding a steady spot to cast.
He spent thirty minutes watching the line dance in the eddies. It was peaceful, the kind of peace you can only find when the roar of a waterfall drowns out the noise in your own head. But then, the stillness was broken by a sharp, rhythmic chirp-chirp from his wrist.
Big Daddy looked down at his watch. High Heart Rate Alert. He sighed, leaning against a rock. He waited a few minutes and tried one more cast, but then it happened again. And again. By the time the fourth alert buzzed against his skin, a dull, familiar ache began to radiate through his left arm. The 60% on the Roam-Meter was draining fast.
The Tailgate Sanctuary
"Alright, Dewey. Mission's over," Big Daddy called out.
They retreated to the 4Runner. Big Daddy dropped the tailgate and sat down heavily, the metal groaning under him. He reached for the remains of his Ocean Water, the blue ice now a slushy slurry at the bottom of the cup. He sat there, focusing on his breathing, watching the mist rise from the falls in the distance.
Dewey, usually a ball of chaotic energy, sensed the shift instantly. He stopped his protest against the waterfall and hopped up onto the tailgate. He didn't try to play. Instead, he sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Big Daddy.
Slowly, Dewey leaned over and began to lick Big Daddy’s left wrist, right where the watch had been screaming just moments before. He licked with a quiet, rhythmic persistence, his warm tongue a contrast to the cold ache in the muscle.
"I know, buddy," Big Daddy whispered, resting his hand on Dewey’s head. "I know."
They sat there for a long time—one man, one dog, and a rumbling old SUV—watching the water rush by, waiting for the heart to settle before the Rumbler carried them back up the mountain.
https://www.wattpad.com/story/404221691-dewey-and-big-daddy%27s-excellent-adventures
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