Tim's Tales from the Road

Check Call
By Timothy Anderson

The car side of the Montana rest area stood empty until a vehicle pulled into the vast windswept parking lot.

Standing at the telephone booth between the restrooms, I waited on hold for Dispatch to return to the line.

I watched as the cream-colored Cadillac whipped into a parking spot and bounced off the curb. Emerging from the driver's side, an elegant gray-haired woman stepped out of the car and stretched. Holding the door partially ajar with her leg, she rummaged in her purse. Looking up, she surveyed the abandoned parking lot, sighed, and stiffly walked to the other side of the car.
The driver's side door remained ajar.

Opening the other front door, the woman braced herself in the stance of a hockey goalie. The small yipping dog on the seat went ballistic with frenzy as soon as the door opened. Suddenly, the woman lost her awkward grip on the handle, allowing the wind to rip the door open. She quickly grabbed it and slammed it shut before the dog could escape. But her action caused the driver's door to open farther.

A brief moment of silent understanding passed between woman and dog. Looking at the pooch through the window, the woman's expression changed to complete horror. She inched toward the front of the car, trying to hold the dog's interest. As she reached the front fender, the animal suddenly bolted for freedom.

The ecstatic dog flew out the open door and, gaining speed, raced around the front of the car, tearing up the lawn past the formerly composed woman. Desperately lunging to head off the escaped dog, the woman missed the flying leash . She took off after the dog in an awkward half walk, half run gait. The much faster dog quickly put great distance between himself and his pursuer.

The woman stopped, deciding to try another tactic. Bending down, she placed her hands on the front of her skirt. "Prince! Prince! Come here boy!"
The dog paused. Perking his ears, he studied the woman. The woman's voice sounded cheerful and enthusiastic, but her stance was clearly angry and unhappy. Breathlessly she watched the small dog. Patting her legs, she encouraged him to approach her.

"C'mon, Prince. Mommy just wants to take you for a little walkie. Come here, Prince. C'mon, you can do it." She paused. Nothing. She brightened. "Mommy has a treat for you!"

Upon hearing the word "treat", the small dog's weakness became obvious as his tail turned hyper. Panting, the dog made a tentative step toward the woman. After briefly adjusting her hair against the wind, the woman reached out. The dog turned and raced away.

Standing erect, her patience gone, the woman screamed. "Prince you come back here right now. Princcccccceeeeee! You little shit!"

The dog made a hard left. Bounding toward the truck parking area, he disappeared briefly in some low hedges. After a second, he re-emerged from the landscaping. Sitting on his back legs, the dog watched the woman as she pulled off her heels and sat her purse down on the lawn beside them. She began walking purposely toward the dog. As she walked, they stared at each other, the dog and the woman. That the dog remained challenging her and his disobedience was the last straw. Her beloved Prince defined spectacle as he taunted her. Daring her. Driving her crazy.

Approaching him aggressively, the woman spoke in a shaky voice. "Good boy. Now…you…just…stay…"

The dog remained sitting, occasionally cocking his head to one side. He seemed fascinated with the woman. Breathless and panting, she inched toward the dog. Growing closer, she reached down to grab the trailing leash. Extending her arms, she was within inches of capturing the dog when he turned and fled. Foiled.
Prince quickly sprinted away, galloping up a small grassy knoll.

"You little Fucker! You come HERE! Prince, I am not kidding! I've just about had it with you! You come right now!" The woman straightened up. Putting both hands on her hips, she collected herself as she stared at the rebellious dog. He returned the look from the top of the knoll. Pricking his ears, cocking his head to the left and panting, he gave his master an innocent expression that did nothing but exasperate her further. Their standoff continued for several minutes. Dog. Disheveled woman.

Only now, the rest area was no longer deserted. The parking lot began filling up, and the sight of the respectable woman and the adorable dog facing off on the grassy knoll attracted attention. People sat motionless in their cars, watching and smiling. None got out to help.
After several moments, the dog voluntarily approached the woman. Breathing a sigh of relief, she bent down to her knees. "Good doggie. C'mon now. Come here, Prince. I won't be mad," the lady cooed sweetly.

She didn't notice the squirrel until well after Prince did. The chase was on. Prince chasing the squirrel, the gray-haired woman chasing them both. The squirrel chattered. The dog yapped. The woman cussed. It wasn't much of a chase, really. Squirrel outpaced dog. And they both outpaced the old woman. After proceeding through several hedges, a small windbreak, and around numerous picnic tables, the chase finally concluded at the base of a large fir, which the squirrel quickly climbed. Safe in the branches of the tree, the squirrel chattered wildly at the yipping dog.

Abruptly, the barking ceased as the woman, in a somewhat exaggerated leap, made a dive and caught the end of the leash. Weakly she rose to her bare feet, brushed herself off, and picked up the small dog. To her embarrassment many of the motorists began to applaud.

Avoiding eye contact with her audience, the woman spoke to the dog. "Prince, you are in serious trouble. Very serious trouble."
The dog responded by licking her face.

Retrieving her shoes and purse, the woman strode determinedly toward the Cadillac. Her unkempt appearance contradicted her confident, walk-as-if-nothing-just-happened stride. Approaching the Cadillac, she tossed the dog inside and quickly shut the door.

I discretely watched as she marched up the walkway toward the women's restroom. Surveying her reflection in the glass doors, she rapidly adjusted her hair and wiped at the grass stains on her skirt. As she made her way into the restroom I heard her mutter, "Oh for Christ's sake. I'm gonna kill that dog."

When she came back out a few minutes later, her dignity reborn, she looked at me. I nodded. Smiled. The experts call this "non-verbal" communication. The sometimes not so allusive body language that says everything that needs to be said without saying anything at all. My smile confirmed my status as a witness.

Her scowl confirmed her status as caught. A woman of elegance and finery reminded that all status is transient, temporary and totally tenuous. After a second she nodded, as if dismissing an intrusive servant.

A moment later, a voice came back on the telephone line. "Tim, your load just canceled. Head to Billings and call me from the truckstop."

As I hung up the phone, the woman backed out of her parking place, bringing her license plate into view. The plate said it all. It read: "GET LOST."