Saturday, August 29 Jackalopes, Border Collies and The Oregon Trail

We slept in and had a lazy, slow morning in Douglas at our KOA. I made pancakes and bacon for breakfast and the kids played with Jack the dog in the next campsite, rode the scooters, saw the horses, played mini-golf, etc. One of the kids who lives there showed Jack a rock that said “free mini-golf” and he thought that was worth hundreds of dollars…he was SOOOOO excited! Later on we were talking about what Rosie is a “fan” of on Facebook and Jack chimed in “I’m a fan of free mini golf!”. You probably had to “be there” but it was really funny.

We went to Fort Fetterman outside of town, one of the important old forts on the Bozeman Trail that was a resupply station for points West and North. We were met there by a young border collie named Sidney, who greeted us profusely as if she had been waiting for days for us to arrive. 

She escorted us on our tour. She was amazing…she could leap straight up in the air, it seemed. If Jack ran, she jumped on him (that “herding” instinct) and she entertained us all with her antics, catching and attempting to eat grasshoppers, etc. As we got ready to leave she first laid under the car, and then jumped up on our coolers on the grate in the back and laid there.

Fort Fetterman was established on the South side of the Platte River near Douglas, WY in 1867.  It was an important supply station during the war against the Indians and the Bozeman Trail passed through it (a major supply route at the time).  In 1868 The "Treaty Of Fort Laramie" was signed, which resulted in the closure of all forts on the North side of the Platte.  Fort Fetterman remained open until 1882.

We Saw Chief Washakie's Grave Yesterday

Ruins of the Cistern

Glass and Metal Fragments

We stopped in downtown Douglas to see the jackalope statue. Douglas,Wyoming is the Jackalope capital of the world, in case you didn't know that.

Then we went to Guernsey, Wyoming where there are Oregon Trail ruts that are very deep. On the way we passed one of the Oregon Trail campsites that has rifle pits used by later soldiers.

The ruts are REALLY cool…it makes you wonder how the wagon wheels survived, being so thin, cutting through that hard rock.

We walked in them for a while and talked about what it would have been like to travel that way. We also tried in vain to catch a lizard, I think it was a blue-tailed skink. We headed the short distance from there to Register Cliff, where hundreds (or thousands) of emigrants signed their names and also often dates and hometowns. Unfortunately so many later visitors  carved their names over the old ones that in some cases the old ones were obscured or altered. They’ve put chain link in front of the oldest signatures now which is too bad but necessary...it makes it impossible to take a good picture.

And now, to talk about Jack falling in love. When we arrived at Register Cliff, there was no one around and suddenly, a dog appeared. Some people arrived around the same time but he didn’t belong to them. He was a little Corgis who Rosie insisted must be named Prince Albert…and it totally fit him. He was a little thin but his feet weren’t in bad shape so he didn’t seem like a stray who had been on the road. He latched onto us and was SOOOOO cute and friendly. He seemed to answer to “Albert” (I think Logan came up with that) and all he wanted was to be with us.

At one point, Jack sat down on the trail and Albert curled up beside him and Jack hugged him and they sat that way for the longest time while the rest of us searched for the 1835 signature from July 14, that they suspect was a French fur trader (commemorating Bastille Day). They (Jack and Albert) were so adorable and sweet together.

Jack kept begging to keep him.  We were there for a pretty long time and Albert was with us.  When it was time to leave, we didn't know what to do...we didn't feel right just leaving him there. 

We went to the car and got in and he stood there looking at us so forlornly that we couldn't.  So the kids walked him across a field to a few houses on a private road and I drove around.  They went up to the first house, with Albert following behind.  This house had dog beds, a kennel and a water bowl, but no one was home.  They told Albert to "STAY" figuring it must be his house but when they left, he ran after them.  I told them to get in the car and we drove toward the next house.  Albert ran behind the Suburban as fast as his little legs could go.  It really seemed like he didn't belong at that first house.  There was a very long driveway leading to another house where a man was mowing the lawn. It said "private drive" so I didn't want to drive on it.  Rosie got out and walked up, followed by Albert.  It turned out that the dog's name is "Rex" and he did indeed live at that first house we stopped at.  He stayed with the man on the lawnmower so we were able to leave.  We pulled out of the driveway and I heard sobbing from the back seat.   Jack was devastated...he had really wanted to keep Albert and take him home with us.  I'm not a huge fan of corgis but he certainly was sweet.  But he must have a good home with all the dog beds and plenty of water.  Jack cried on and off for a very long time....it was heartbreaking.

On our way out of Guernsey we took a short detour to Hart, Wyoming, a cute old small town. 

We drove on, with a stop at Fort Laramie.  Then it was on to the outskirts of the town of Scottsbluff, Nebraska.  I had booked a campground over the phone and unfortunately we got there to discover it was right next to train tracks.  We set up the tent in the almost empty campground and I took the boys for a quick swim.  I had planned to make a nice dinner but once again, we had stove problems.  It really wasn't working correctly and I didn't want to mess with the cooking gas.  It was already dark by this point and we were starving.  So we drove into town and went to Whiskey Creek Steakhouse.  We've been to one of those before in North Platte, Nebraska and we told Jack how you throw the peanut shells on the floor.   Jack misunderstood this...he thought it meant you throw peanuts at everyone.  We sat down at our table and he proceeded to start throwing peanuts around the restaurant!  It was very funny and luckily no one got hurt.  He was more than a little disappointed when we explained the correct etiquette for a peanut restaurant.  He compromised and threw them on the floor as hard as he could.  After dinner we drove back to the campground to be greeted by several monstrous cats hanging out near our tent...really, really big cats.  One was very friendly. Then it was time to try and sleep despite the train whistles.
© 2009 Tara Morrison