Presentation is Everything!
Barkegaard The Dog Philosopher Returns, plus a special audio treat.
As things go haywire in this country (and world) I though we could all use a small break from reality and enjoy a bonkers comic about my dog Zeke’s alter-ego, Barkegaard, the Dog Philosopher.
Also, below the comic is an extra special treat. It’s a tale (with audio) about what happened this past Thursday, when my wife and I traveled to pick Zeke up from his Vet appointment.
Driving Miss Doozy
Here’s a little narration to go with this story.
Last Thursday, I scheduled an 8:15am appointment with the vet to see my dog Zeke for his annual dental cleaning.
The night before the appointment, I saw that the weather forecasts had issued a winter snowstorm warning that was to hit us around 10 a.m. Thursday morning and possibly continuing until around noon.
Before I continue, allow me to explain two things to keep in mind regarding Pacific Northwest storm warnings.
First, being from the East Coast, winter storms in the Pacific Northwest are usually overhyped flurries compared to what I used to drive through in upstate New York. People out west tend to panic when there’s the slightest dusting of white on the road.
Second, there’s always the rare occasion when a snowstorm actually does hit with some ferocity, but even then the snow and ice melt off within a couple of days, thereby returning us all to the usual unending months of rain that Pacific Northwest winters are known for.
Knowing this, I considered the "storm warning" to be unimportant. So, on Thursday morning, I decided to drive to the vet to drop off my little Zeke, a Parson Jack Russell-Chihuahua mix, for his dental appointment. Even though his teeth resembled those of a homeless methhead, I recognized the importance of keeping those brittle, crusty little razors as healthy as possible.
Once Zeke was dragged off to the back room of the vet's office, I headed back home.
At 9 a.m., I looked out from my home office window and saw the snow starting to flutter down from the sky. This gave me the false confidence that all the warnings were much ado about nothing.
At 10 a.m., I looked out of my window.
The snowflakes were larger and landed with a concerted effort to make themselves at home on the ground.
“It’s sticking! It’s sticking!” I repeated to my wife, Deb, who was sitting at her work desk in the backroom.
For the next three hours, until it was time to pick up Zeke from the vet, I dashed around the house like a parrot whose side job was that of being a doomsday prophet. I shouted with growing anxiety, “It’s sticking! IT’S STICKING!” I also looked out the window and yelled, “LOOK AT THE ROADS! LOOK AT THE ROADS!”
When it was time to pick up Zeke, my wife, Deb, wanted to join me for the ride. However, the roads were now covered in snow, making the journey potentially hazardous. I suggested that she stay home, but she insisted on coming with me.
Deb suggested that we should take Highway 205 to get to the vet. I told her that would be suicide since every trucker would be barreling down that road in a snow festival of jackknifing accidents.
Instead, we drove 10 miles of backroads to reach the veterinarian’s office.
About 5 miles into the drive, I noted the reality of the storm’s effect on the streets.
“Jesus Christ, these roads are bad,” I said. “The tire pressure warning light is blinking! With all the bumpy ice, I can’t tell if we got a flat, or if the tires are just underinflated!”
Deb started rummaging through the glove box and jerking around in her seat.
“Now what are you doing?” I asked her.
“I’m looking for the tire pressure tool!” She replied.
“What’s the point? How’s that going to help? We’re already on the road sliding around!!! All you’re doing is distracting my concentration! Now sit back and stop moving around!”
We then approached an intersection ahead that had a red light. Deb noticed that there was also a railroad crossing at the intersection.
“Pump the brakes.” She said.
“I am pumping the brakes!” I frantically shouted.
The car not only slid on the ice before the intersection but also on the iced metal rails of the crossing. My foot furiously pressed the brake pedal. I could hear the brake fluid pump squeaking with each pedal pump.
“Pump the brakes more!” Deb screeched.
“I AM PUMPING THE BREAKS! IF I WAS PUMPING THE BREAKS EVEN MORE, OTHER DRIVERS WOULD THINK I’M DOING THE MEXICAN HAT DANCE BEHIND THE WHEEL!”
“WE’RE SLIDING! WE’RE SLIDING!” She shouted as she grabbed the dash.
The car finally stopped in the middle of the intersection—and the railroad tracks.
Deb’s full-on panic took hold. “WE’RE ON THE TRACKS! WE’RE ON THE TRACKS! BACK IT UP! BACK IT UP!”
I shouted back, “I'M MORE WORRIED ABOUT BEING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE INTERSECTION AND HAVING SOME JACKASS T-BONE OR REAR END US!”
Deb’s brain was fixated on the railroad “THE TRACKS! THE TRACKS! BACK IT UP! BACK IT UP!”
My shouting wasn’t helping the matter. “CAN YOU ZIP IT? I DON’T NEED YOU STATING THE OBVIOUS!”
The light turned green, and I eased out of the intersection, moving forward on the ice-covered road at 15 mph. Another red light was 100 yards ahead. My hands gripped the steering wheel in a mix of anger and anticipation.
“Another red light ahead.” Deb reminded me.
“YES, I KNOW! WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT ZIPPING IT? I DON’T NEED A FRONT SEAT, BACK SEAT DRIVER!”
“Sorry, I’m just trying to help!”
“You’re not helping! This is why I wanted you to stay home!”
“I came along because you might need my help.” Deb offered in her defense.
“Help at what? YOU DON’T EVEN DRIVE!!!”
Deb snidely continued her defense. “Well, for someone who grew up in upstate New York, you sure don’t seem to have retained any of your winter driving skills!”
I sneered back, “We get like 2 days of snow here on the West Coast. That’s not enough to practice on! Plus they don’t plow the roads here! The lazy bastards!”
We drove cautiously along the road as snow fell and ice accumulated on the pavement. Ahead of us was a hill. The car ascended it without difficulty, but when we reached the top, we saw the downward slope leading to an intersection at the bottom.
“Red light ahead. Pump the brakes.” Deb said out of reflex.
“WHAT DID I SAY? ZIP IT! I’M PUMPING! I’M PUMPING!”
The car slid…and slid...and slid. I pumped and pumped. Pumped and slid. The auto slid toward the curb. Fortunately, there was enough snow to prevent our slide into the red light and the back bumper of the car in front of us!
Deb let out a sigh of relief, “That was close. I was almost going to pull the emergency brake!”
“If you had did that, I would have killed you! No,..wait.. in fact, YOU WOULD HAVE KILLED YOU! You don’t pull the emergency brake while sliding on ice! Unless you want to spin into a utility pole!
“Oh,” Deb said meekly. “Uh, how far is the vet?”
“About 3 miles ahead.”
“On this road? We’ll never make it!”
“THANKS FOR THE VOTE OF CONFIDENCE! Do you want to tell me how to pump the brakes again if it’ll make you feel better? …No? ….THEN ZIP IT!” My nerves were just about shot from this icy white-knuckle drive.
Thankfully, I overestimated how far away the vet’s office was and we arrived sooner than expected and without any car damage. Although mentally, we each received a few dents and dings from the experience.
As we exited the car, the snowstorm stopped.
Deb and I went into the office to collect Zeke. The vet brought Zeke out to us from the back room.
Despite his wonky Chihuahua teeth, the vet said his winning methhead smile was tip-top. She then cautioned us that Zeke might be feeling the effects of the anesthesia and be a bit wobbly.
I looked at his little face and could tell he was still flying high. His pupils were unevenly dilated as if he’d been to an all-night rave.
Since the snow had stopped and was melting quickly as it arrived, we got Zeke into the car and decided to take Highway 205 back home.
It seemed like the safer option.
If you want to read more Barkegaard stories, here’s a couple links.
I hope you enjoyed this post. A big thank you to all my new subscribers and let’s all try to have a stress free week!
Cheers,
Ed
It's a doggy dog world.
Jeff and I always drove separately. In fact, when we lived in Truckee, he spent most of his time in San Jose, under the palm trees. Somehow we survive and are now enjoying life off the mountain and in that semi-winter weather - sans rain - you talk about.