Indian Head Highway

Between jobsites today I saw the picture of pure happiness.  Freedom with nary a care in the world, a countenance so pleased with itself that every vantage point offered a new perspective on life, even though it was repeated in a cycle for as long as I can imagine.

He was a standard issue hound dog of some sort, big and clumsy.  This dog bounded about the flat bed, ears flowing with the wind as he (?) perched himself precariously on the edges of the pickup.  He went from starboard, to stern, to portside.  Over and over again.  He looked at everything going by with great interest, as if it were the first time he had ever seen these objects, vehicles, and people.  He wasn't in a cage or a 5 point harness.  He looked happy.  His drool painted the sides of the pickup as he lived in the moment.  What a life.

Non sequitur:  While I watched this, I heard someone say this on the radio:

"Describing your life in seventeen syllables is very diffi"