I wish she wouldn't have thought of that use.
This Thing was Black Box Of Death.
See it there, on the back of dad's motorcycle, looking all innocent-like? Don't be fooled.
It' was all fun and games until mom stuffed me into that thing. That thing called the Black Box of Death. And to add insult to injury, she wanted to take a selfie with me in that Death Box.
I chose not to smile.
After shoving me in there (and trust me, I made it a difficult job for all concerned. And by "all," I mean both mom and dad), mom and dad got on the motorcycle and started driving. With me in the Box of Death.
I will admit to being quite thrilled to spend the day with mom once we arrived at our destination. We walked around town, had lunch and then she shoved me in the Death Box again.
This is me, doing my best "Help, someone stole me and shoved me into this box and is driving me away to be sold into slavery!" imitation. It's a good one, huh? Nobody bought it, because I wasn't rescued.
At the next stop, things took an upturn. I got to sit in the driver's seat! That's a great place to be. It's much nicer to see where you're going than to see where you've been. From the inside of a Black Box of Death.
And then dad let me drive!
I could totally reach the handlebars, but I didn't want to show dad up.
And as if that wasn't fun enough, mom didn't shove me inside the Death Box when she got on the bike, but instead she held me while dad drove.
This is how riding should be! The wind in your face, securely seated in mom's lap, not having a care in the world.
Okay, I know that's not a good picture of me. Everyone has a bad photo day on occasion, okay? I really did love it there. I actually fell asleep in mom's arms and started snoring. But not before we did another selfie together.
She said no. I asked. She said it's a safety issue. Dad agreed with her. I'm going to employ the Puppy Eyes.