If you’re guessing Roswell, New Mexico, you’re absolutely right.
Ace and I finally made it out of Texas yesterday, and as far as Roswell, that land of UFO myths — or covered-up alien visits, if you prefer.
It’s a town of many motels, only a handful of bars and numerous aliens — from statues like this one in our motel lobby to inflatable models that blow in the breeze in front of downtown storefronts.
It’s also a growingly popular retirement spot and, if the waitress at the bar and grill I visited knows what she’s talking about, a town with only one vagabond (not counting me).
After telling me, with emphasis, that Roswell is a friendly town, she filled me in on the only resident who appears homeless. He’s an older gent, who spends his days pushing a shopping cart through town, digging through people’s trash in search of treasure.
Curious, she followed him home one day — only to find he lived in a house nicer than her’s. Turns out he takes all his gathered goods to the Salvation Army — or maybe it was Goodwill, I don’t remember — and donates it.
Roswell is also home to a UFO museum, which is soon to start building new quarters, and a McDonald’s shaped like an UFO.
Space aliens are to Roswell what crabs are to Baltimore.
It was our first stop in which we didn’t check for dog friendly motels first. Instead, we pulled into town and walked into the Frontier Motel, which for a $10 non-refundable deposit, declared Ace welcome.
We chose it because it was a good old fashioned motor court, where you can pull your car right up to the door of your room, allowing us to do some much needed reorganization.
And while I think there might have been some aliens lurking in the room, there were no bugs.
(To read all of “Dog’s Country,” click here.)