The High Road

Hey, guy in the midnight-blue pickup truck. You were driving oh-so-slowly onto the Rainbow exit off Interstate 35, hazards flashing, when I got stuck behind your turtle ass. I was rushing to Oklahoma Joe’s to pick up some cracklike fries and barbecue for a work meeting and, naturally, I was running late. What’s this asshole doing? I thought, annoyed, when I couldn’t get past you. Then, I took a closer look and saw a scared black-and-tan mutt running along the shoulder. You were driving alongside it, so that he wouldn’t get back onto the highway. What else could I do but join your one-man caravan? Along with the big rig behind us, we kept up the pace and finally, on the off-ramp, the poor mangy thing ducked between the guardrail posts and disappeared into a grassy knoll. At the light, you gave me a little wave for helping out. No, thank you, mysterious animal escort. At the risk of sounding all Hallmarky and shit, seeing you take the time to help out a frightened dog kind of made my day. Even more so than Oklahoma Joe’s, and that’s saying a lot.

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