Like I said, I love my morning drive to work. Normally, it is a time for me to listen to podcasts. There are a couple of them that I reserve for the car ride, since it is there that I can devote a certain portion of my consciousness to listening. Unlike when I'm at work or home, where I find I'm DOING things that take more of my grey matter. You'd think that driving should take at least as much, but when you drive the same route over and over and over, there is a certain amount of "auto pilot" that engages.
For the most part, driving to work is an almost sedentary event.
Until one morning in particular:
I was driving to work on the 15th of October, the day after my birthday, south on Broadview Rd. I was going through Richfield, when a dog ran across the road (west to east). It missed the front passenger tire of the Jeep, but went under. I know I made contact with it (I could feel it bounce on the undercarriage). I stopped, put on the four-way lights, and backed up to where I thought I had hit it.
It was not only in the ditch, but it was still alive. It slowly turned its head, baring its teeth. I grabbed my cellphone, asked Cortana to show me the closest police departments (I never know WHERE I am), and called the Richfield police.
I gave them my name and told them I hit a dog. I told them it was like a short-haired German Shepherd, but I really don't know dogs. (I had a Papillion at one time in my life, and could recognize them instantly when they showed up in TV commercials, but asides from my boy, Butterfly, I am pretty clueless when it came to breeds.) They said they would send an officer, and if it was okay with me, to wait.
The police officer pulled up behind me with his flashers and I got out to meet him. He could tell I was a bit shook up. I walked him over to the other side of the road and pointed.
The officer said that, if it makes me feel any better, it wasn't a dog, so I didn't hit someone's pet. I hit a wild coyote. "Great," I said, "I killed Wile E. Coyote." He said that there are so many wild animals running around, that they call his police car the "Deer Killer". He asked about damage to the Jeep, but I assured him there wasn't any. It bounced off the skid plates under the vehicle. He was going to shoot it (not only was it still alive, it had turned around in the ditch) and then take care of the body.
Knowing that I didn't kill someone's pet made me feel a little better, but not much. Needless to say, I drove the rest of the way to work in silence.
My "shrine" at work:
I'm so sorry, Wile.
© Emittravel 2015
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