Yesterday, when my sister and I were coming back from a trip to Wal-Mart (something we do a lot when we're both home for breaks), we decided to take a back road to get home. It's a road we use a lot when we're heading to Wally World or Pizza Hut, both of which are located on the east side of town. It passes by a Berean church, a few residential areas, the Catholic cemetery, and a retirement home, and we often find ourselves cursing the frustrating but understandable 30 mph signs; it's so easy to cruise on the stretch at 45 without realizing. The stretch allows us to avoid turning onto the highway at a high traffic area.
"So I have a song to play for you," Heidi said, scrolling through the lists of songs on her iPod. She tapped her finger on the screen and set the player on the dashboard, reaching to adjust the volume. "I don't know if you've heard this before or not."
"Oh really?" I asked, tilting my head. As soon as I heard the opening notes, I glanced over at her and back to the road in front of me. It was
Gotye's "Somebody That I Used To Know", a song I'd played over and over since she had introduced it to me weeks ago. "I have heard this, actually. Remember? You posted it on my wall?"
"Oh yeah," she said, and cracked a joke (at that point we were in a pretty silly mood).
We passed the cemetery and turned onto the second leg of the route, a hilly stretch that passes by the church and the retirement facility. The closer we got to the church and North Street, though, we started to notice something in the roadway.
"What is happening?" Heidi said, in her usual tone of a statement rather than a question. "What is that? Is that a dog? A person crouched over?"
"I don't know," I said, slowing down and coming to a complete stop about ten feet away. It was a brown and white dog, and it was picking and pulling at a section of roadkill that had been sitting in our lane. "Ugh, that's so gross. What should I do?" I checked the mirrors to see if there was someone behind me, and then ahead to see if there was anyone coming from the opposite direction. There was no one.
"Honk at it," Heidi said.
I did. The first time, the dog didn't do anything. I waited a few seconds for it to move, and then hit the horn once more. The dog just looked up at us, a string reaching from its mouth to the half of roadkill it was picking at that was now hanging an inch from the ground.*
We yelled in disgust, shielding our eyes. Heidi laughed a little. "Oh my God! Is this really happening right now?!" she said.
"Why did you do that?" I yelled at the windshield in direction of the dog, who had ducked his head and resumed its picking. I honked again, two sharp blasts, hoping that it would scare the dog into moving off the road. It didn't.
"Heather, you have to move around it," Heidi said.
"No! The last time something like this happened, the raccoon got spooked at the last second and ran directly into the line of my tires. I don't want to risk hitting the dog if we try to move around it."
"Seriously?" Heidi sounded more annoyed at the situation than at my story. She looked back at the dog. "MOVE!" she yelled. The dog looked up at us again, disinterested.
"What do I do?!" I thought about the possibilities we had. I could reverse down the road a bit, turn into the church parking lot, and go back to the highway, turn right, and head back past Lakeview and Hardees to head home. That was a lot of work, but I did not want to hit the dog--I would never get over it. "Heidi, get out and see if you can shoo it off the road and I'll move the car and then you can get back in..."
"No. Heather, we have to move. You're going to have to move around it--"
"I don't want to!"
"It'll be fine. I don't think it's going anywhere. Just go slowly."
I sighed and then crept forward keeping an eye on the dog and the road ahead. "Watch the dog," I said, turning the wheel to the left a little to change over into the other lane. "Keep an eye on it."
"I know. I'm watching. Just go slowly," she said.
I watched the dog from the corner of my eye as we moved around him, scared that it would get spooked and run in front of my car. I remembered Dad telling me about the dog he'd had as a kid that got hit by a snowblower, and the kid who'd hit it coming to the door in tears to let him and my uncles know.
But as we creeped along beside it, the dog picked up his meal in his mouth, and casually walked around the back of the car safely to the side of the road.
"Really?" Heidi cried. "Did you seriously just do that, dog? Just walk away?"
"Did that seriously just happen? Like, how does that even happen?" But I was relieved.
This morning when we were heading back on the same route coming back from Wal-Mart (Mom asked us to pick up some drinking water), Heidi looked over at me from the driver's seat. "Hey. Remember that one time?"
"That we saw that dog? Yes. I do." I said.
*I apologize for how graphic this is. It was disgusting. I felt like I was in a movie.
