Ollie, the dog, doesn't like car rides. He trembles. He whines. He climbs behind my back and drapes himself over my shoulders like a mink stole. And that is how we found ourselves, today, driving down Route 301 swerving wildly. Ollie lodged himself behind my lower back so that I was sitting uncomfortably close to the steering wheel making steering, driving in general really freaking hard.
I had no where to pull off and traffic was steady. He began to shake badly, and since he is prone to seizures I panicked that he was in the midst of a body rocking brain battle. So I did what any sane (?) dog lover would do. I cut across three lanes of traffic to the miniature shoulder, launched myself out the driver's side door and assessed his condition.
And there, in a small patch of sunlight on the driver's seat he lay, sound asleep and dreaming. Legs running furiously no doubt in pursuit of a tasty squirrel.
Expletive.
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