Indiana Bones

The rain is coming down in sheets and I can’t help but feel annoyed. I know Indiana is too because as soon as I open the front door she takes a few steps out onto the front stoop, pauses to observe the scene, and lets out one of her long huffs. It’s the kind where I can hear the long inhale and even before she lets loose, I am holding back my laughter. So I offer her the back porch. 

I’m trying to change my attitude, but it’s hard when I can feel the time slipping through my fingers. I need picturesque fall days for her last days. It doesn’t help that it’s a workday, which compounds on my annoyance. I need more time. When the rain simmers into a cool mist that hangs on everything, I let her out front and watch to see where she will lay. She chooses the dirt right next to the car. 

And with that I was grabbing her help-me-up harness and barreling towards her. She knew what was happening long before I could utter the words, “Car ride!”

It wasn’t until I heard the crunch of the gravel under the weight of my tires that my attitude changes. I can feel the magic. The fast temperature drop after the rain forced the leaves into their full colors. Orange and red and yellow everywhere on everything; pressed on the windshield, falling into the windows, and creating a canopy as we crept down River Road. My mind is lost on all the great rides we’ve had over the years in the streets of DC, up and down the Blue Ridge Parkway, to the brow of Lookout Mountain, and even a ride given by a stranger. 

Indy used to burst out of my shoebox of a condo in DC, dragging me down the front stairs. She pulled with such force that one day her leash broke and she was off barreling across the street at rush hour. I saw her life flash before my eyes and by sheer luck she made it to the other side. I didn’t have enough time to count my blessings before she was back in the street. The cars didn’t stop. I didn’t have much choice but to stand in the middle of traffic while putting my hands up both ways. We all stood at standstill while we watched her dart back and forth. I was on the verge of tears when a woman in a BMU swung open her driver side door. I thought she was going to let me have it, but instead she asked, “Does your dog like car rides?” 

I didn’t get a chance to answer. Indy heard the question too. She was barreling towards the open door and jumping in before I could say yes. The woman pulled up to the curb, got out, and held me. As soon as my shaking eased, we laughed until our sides hurt as we looked at Indy happy as pie in her front seat. 

I haven’t thought of that memory in a long time. It was buried in my mind, but as I watched her enjoy this car ride from my side view mirror I was able to access it from somewhere in the deep. I wonder what I’ll be doing in the future when this misty mountain car ride with her emerges with all its color.  

Today’s prompt was maybe you can’t sit down and write multiple pages or hundreds of words, but I bet you can come up with ten images of the last twenty-four hours.