NO RELIEF FOR THE FROZEN

As I write these words, it's a brisk, invigorating 14 freakin' degrees outside and my cable TV and internet connection has gone blooey. Noise ("snow") on the tube, on every channel, and my cable modem could be declared legally insane, the way it's behaving -- one light blinking uselessly, the PC activity light on steady, with the computer turned off, and the damned thing won't shut down and go into standby mode at all. Totally crazy. I called the cable company and the gal there said something was "down" somewhere and to call back in a couple of hours. Apparently, there's nobody there to perform CATV surgery at 6 A.M. on a Sunday morning. Par for the course.

So, I went out to the truck to grab this trusty laptop, with the "instant internet" device I pay $60 per month for -- and nearly froze my butt off on that short trip!! Global warming?? Yeah. Right. Tell me another one, Al Gore!! Welcome to Alaska South, Nanook!! And the ice cap is melting?? The polar bears are in danger?? Hell, tell 'em all to head south, toward Tennessee. We got perfect weather for them down here this morning!! They can frolic, play and have all kinds of fun in this deep freeze. Hell, the damned cable equipment probably froze to death sometime last night! That's my theory, anyway, and I'm sticking to it.

Back in my warm Dawg House now, it's much nicer, and after my fingers loosened up enough to type and my underwear thawed out a little, I've got this laptop fired up and am sitting here bitching to all of you about the weather. I can't help it. I am a decidedly warm weather person, to the core! And this sub-arctic deep freeze crap cramps my style tremendously. First day of winter comes and I'm like, "How long till spring??" That's me.  If I could, I'd cram all this cold air in a box and ship it back to Canada, one-way! We need a wall buillt on the Canadian border, too. Not to keep the Canucks out, but to keep all their cold air and snow up there, where it belongs!! They live there, they can deal with it. End of story.

I'm home for a little longer this week, because of a dental appointment tomorrow. Told dispatch this one would take a little longer than a routine appointment because it's my initial visit to a new dentist and he'll likely take umpteen x-rays, do a complete exam on me, and all sort of other time-consuming activities. So I swapped my loaded trailer for an empty one and will pick up a load somewhere around here, probably on Tuesday morning. My former dentist, Dr. Thomas Lane, whom I went to for the past twelve years or so, retired at the end of last year. I hated to see him go a lot, as he was about the best dentist I've ever had. But he's earned his retirement, after fifty-five years in practice, and I wish him all the best.

I was in South Carolina on Friday and if you couldn't tell that a presidential primary was about to happen, I'd adivse you to have your vision examined. Signs all over the place, most for Congressman Ron Paul, who won't get that many votes, but whose supporters like to stick signs up in every nook and cranny they can find. I saw Sen. John McCain's huge campaign bus roaming around in the Columbia area, as well as former Tennessee Senator Fred Thompson's. Don't know if either candidate was "at home," so to speak, but I was a man on a mission, as usual, and in a hurry to get my load home and relay it to the other driver, so I couldn't stop and play autograph hound. No signs of any of the Democrat candidates, as their primary won't be held till next weekend. South Carolina has a weird wrinkle, in that each party's primary is held a week apart, instead of on the same day, like most states.

We have early voting in Tennesse, so I went and cast my ballot yesterday, because as a trucker, if I don't vote early, I won't get to vote at all. I'll be God-knows-where on Super Tuesday, when my state's regular primary is held. Not telling who I voted for until after the primary, to be fair about it. Those of you who are readers of my private political blog will learn of my choice later. Those of you who are not current readers, are conservative-minded, and would like to become readers, let me know and I'll add you to the reader list. If you're liberal-minded, that blog's not for you. Enough said.

Got to go brave the elements again and make a cigarette run and I'm also going to start up my Big Truck and let it run an hour or so, to keep the batteries up on it and make sure the fuel won't gel up in the lines. There's not a lot of wind here, thank God, so that helps with that particular issue, anyway. But I'm going to wait until it warms up a little bit. I'm rationing my smokes now, as I want to avoid "nicotine fits" if I run out. That's not a pretty sight to see and nobody would want to be around me if that happens!

Supposed to warm back up a little by tomorrow. We'll see.

10-7

SPRING BREAK?? YEAH -- WHILE I WAS GONE!!!

Hold On. . .You MUST CLICK for the song to play.

 

Boy, did the weather change in a week's time!! Last week, I was writing about the cold wave down in Louisiana where I had been and by the middle of this past week, I was running my air conditioner during the day!! I stayed south all week and it was like a miniature spring break, with temperatures in the 70's in Alabama and Georgia.

And all while I was on the road, of course. Now that I'm at home, on the weekend, it's turned nippy again and normal winter temperatures have returned. I was going to take Miss Velvet out for a mid-winter spin this afternoon, but the chilly wind put that idea on hold for awhile, probably till mid-March or so.

I predicted as much last week, while I was motorvating around the southeast. It'll be warm and pretty -- beautiful riding weather -- while I'm out and then just watch it turn cold, and/or rain when I get back home!! And so it did. It was pretty and warm enough yesterday, but I was worn-out from driving and winter is back today. My usual luck is still with me.

And of course, with the first glimmer of warmer weather those guys in the green and orange safety vests waste no time in breaking out their barrels and roping off a lane or two on the highways and so they have here. A section of I-640 that they worked on seemingly nearly forever looked to be about finished last weekend and I go through there Saturday only to find that they've got it all torn up again!!! And cops hovering around to make sure everyone sticks to that super-fast 45 mph speed limit!! I can't wait for spring, yet I dread it -- mixed emotions, for sure.

Used to be truckers had just two seasons -- winter and road construction. Now there's just construction, year-round. And they don't seem to git 'r done a bit faster, regardless of that. It's gone on so long in some places that the current workers' grandchildren will probably end up finishing it, twenty years or so from now. And by then it'll be obsolete and they'll have to start all over again! Nice country we've got here -- if they ever get through building it!!

I did manage to use my spare time working on Miss Velvet, since it's still too frigid outside to ride her as yet. Bought her some Christmas presents and spent a little  time prettying her up a little more. It's called "customizing," which is adding non-factory parts and accessories to make your bike something personal and not just a showroom motorcycle. Velvet now has her saddlebags, a sexy black bra on her fuel tank, a windshield, custom handgrips and a few other goodies. Here's the latest pics of my two-wheeled gal:

This is how she looked just a few days after I bought her last June

And here's how she looks in January of '08

That's all the bigger pics that AOL will let me embed in the body of this entry, so I've stuck three more in the box at the top, as you can see. One way or the other, I've got them all for you. Anyway, Velvet looks like a different bike from the showroom bike she was when I first "adopted" her. I might add some other things later on, when I can afford it. I'd like to put a more comfortable seat on her. But I'll have to cross that bridge a little later on.

10-7

BACK EAST AGAIN AND INTO A DEEP FREEZE

Back home again this weekend, for a short stay before I head back out later tonight. I was so far away that I didn't get home until yesterday. If I could have made it Friday, I'd have had a little more time, but things didn't work out that way for me.

I sat in the truckstop in Fort Worth until Wednesday morning, then got assigned a load that picked up a little more than 100 miles south, in Temple, Texas. I had been to the place before, some six years earlier, but had long forgotten which exit to take, so I had to get the directions again. Once I hopped off the interstate down there, I remembered where the place was and had no trouble finding it. Found that they've changed their entrance and the procedures are a bit different as well, but those are minor things, which caused no problems.

I dropped my empty and was hooked to my loaded box in short order. Going back north, I took the Dallas/35E fork in the highway this time, so I could hop on I-20 and head east, toward my destination in Louisiana. I learned that everything is bigger in Texas, including construction zones. Seemed like the one I went through was at least 50 miles long! I couldn't get a shot of the Big 'D' skyline, because the only reasonably close-up view of it is right in the middle of the 35E/I-20 interchange. Traffic was too hairy to risk a shot and the maze of ramps blocked most of the view anyway, so I didn't even attempt it. By the time I was on 20 and had changed directions, Dallas was in my rear-view mirror.

I played tag with some crazy Tex-Mex dude in a little six-wheeled delivery truck for a few miles, then lost him when I-635 split off and he went that way. He seemed to be enjoying our little "contest" as much as I was. Neither of us really got a clear advantage, so I put it down as a draw. When I attempted to bury him in traffic, using my larger size to block any attempts to cross over in front of me, he wormed his way out of it neatly. I didn't let him get me bottlenecked the same way at all. He was a little faster than me, but slower cars kept getting in his way, so he was never able to get that far ahead of me. We waved and smiled at each other as we parted company for good. Harmless thing, really, and a way to have a little fun and break the boredom of driving up for a few minutes.

At the eastern edge of Texas, the vast plains begin to give way to pine tree forests and the wetlands of Louisiana swamp country. A few miles out of Shreveport, after going around in a circle for ten minutes to correct a wrong turn I made, which had me headed north, instead of south, I was headed down I-49. Through Alexandria and on into Lafayette, where the real swamp and Cajun country starts. By the way, that's pronounced "Lah-fie-yet" with the authentic accent. Sort of like "Baa-tone-Roozh" (Baton Rouge). It's always fascinating to hear those Cajun voices on the CB down there. And there's a lot of them, as you might imagine.

The Wally-Mart DC (Distribution Center) where I was headed will take you at any time on the proper delivery date, as long as you're dropping and hooking, so I didn't have to stop and kill time until my pre-set delivery appointment rolled around. That was nice, for a change. I was in and out of there within a half-hour. There was no load right away, so I holed up in a nearby truckstop in Hammond and started my break. Load came through around nightfall, and I would load at a paper mill, back the way I'd already come, north of Baton Rouge.

Plenty of time for a break first, but I got little sleep at all. Just wasn't sleepy. I'd gotten my "nap out," so to speak, the previous two days, so I was in total Bug-Eye Mode that night. Wide awake and unable to move until my ten hours were up, around midnight, or thereabout. Well, I'd have all kinds of hours available, at least. And I could get all the way home Friday. Barely. By the skin of my teeth -- by stretching the hours in my logbook as tight as a drum. But that's okay; a driver's hours are made out of rubber anyway. No problem with stretching them. Only newbie drivers think that they're made of iron, and most of them learn the truth quickly enough.

Meanwhile, it had turned cold as whiz outside. Old Man Winter had come to pay his respects to the Southeast on Thursday morning. It had been 17 degrees in Shreveport at 7A.M. and it was on its way down into the upper 20's again where I was. Very cold indeed, for the Deep South. I heard later that it was only 45 degrees that morning in Key West, Florida -- a  new record low for that area and colder than it had gotten there since 1896. Global Warming? Ha! Not quite!! I think all this early snow, ice, and frigid air are Mother Nature's way of telling Mr. Gore and his pals that they're full of crap!

My conventional dry van trailer had turned into a reefer by the time I got to the paper mill and backed up to a utility dock, to clean it out. Only difference was that my box was missing the refrigeration unit on the front and the fuel tank underneath it. Other than that, it was just as cold inside that thing as any reefer can get, or at least that's the way it felt, at 2 A.M. Friday morning. I swept it out, shiveringly (if that's a word).

The brake shoes on my loaded box were frozen to the drums, but I managed to push and pull on the air supply knob a half-dozen times and rock the box back and forth until they finally broke loose with a clunking noise. The 43,000 pound weight of the load helped a lot. You learn fast that you don't set the trailer brake in below-freezing weather, when you're going to be parked for a longer period of time, especially when there's snow or ice on the pavement. Water freezes into ice and ice tends to bond brake shoes to brake drums and the damned thing won't move with the brakes locked up. Of course, it can't be helped when the trailer is dropped, so that's something that you just have to deal with all the time. I have had to beat the living crap out of the drums a few times with my trusty hammer, in order to "encourage" the shoes to release ("mechanical intimidation" is more like it, actually). Fortunately, it didn't require that sort of direct action on this occasion.

I got rolling, fueled up, and headed to the house. I got into Alabama before I crapped out. The lack of sleep was getting to me, big time, by then, and I saw that I wasn't going to make it home on Friday. It's just not worth the risk, when you're that tired and drowsy. It makes you a menace on the road, both to yourself and to everyone else who shares the road with you. So, I pulled into a rest area about 60 miles west of Birmingham and hit the bunk. Had no problem sleeping this time.

I rolled in here yesterday morning and will roll on to Cincinnati tonight. Another week closer to spring and the return of motorcycling weather!! Can't wait, but meantime, I'm doing a little customizing work on Miss Velvet, installing the custom handgrips I got her for Christmas. I'll get some pics of them when they're both installed.

10-7

LOOKIN' LIKE A LONE STAR NEW YEAR

Ft. Worth, Texas

878 miles west of the Dawg House, no load, and looking like I'll spend New Year's right in this truckstop. I haven't been out here in Texas in more than six years and I took the trip for the miles and money, knowing that I probably wouldn't make it back home this week. That's what happens when you have bills to pay; you need the money to pay them with. Miles equal dollars, in my business, and so forth. I told dispatch before Christmas that I couldn't afford to take a week off without pay for the holidays, like quite a few drivers did, so I left back out in the wee hours on Dec. 26th. I sure got what I asked for!

Actually, it's been sweeter than usual, on the road this past week. Not as many trucks running. A lot of drivers get the whole week off between Christmas and New Year's Day, so truck traffic is lighter. Not much fighting for parking spaces, like usual and you can get in truck stops later at night and find a parking slot. I found a pull-thru slot open at 7 P.M. the other night -- unheard of on any normal week. I enjoyed the run down through Oklahoma Saturday and on the weekend, traffic was slow in places like Tulsa and Oklahoma City.

Rolled into Denton, Texas -- about 30 miles north of here -- yesterday. Dropped my loaded box at the Peterbilt plant there and hooked up to an empty, then got the expected "no load" message in a jiffy. I rolled on down here and parked it until??? Holiday weekend again, so all bets are off on any load at all until Wednesday. Some places are working today, but not that many at all. Plants tend to take vacations at this time of year, shutting down until Jan. 2, 2008.

I originally planned to make Denton on Saturday, as it's a place where you can deliver anytime and my prospects for a load might have been better on Saturday than on Sunday, but I got hung up in Morton, having some much-needed repairs done on my truck. About a week before Christmas, something went "blooie" in my engine. The "Check Engine" idiot light was on, intermittently, the idle was so rough and the steering wheel shook so bad that I had to shut the engine off in order to graph my logbook. I couldn't write a lick, with that shaking. The worst thing of all was the performance on hills, with a heavy load. It didn't have any performance at all, to speak of!

Now, our trucks are lousy at climbing anyway, because my company likes to castrate them by cutting the horsepower back on the engines. Nothing to write home to mama about normally, BUT -- this was absolutely pitiful, even by our usual standards!! Coming up Saluda -- the steep hill at the North Carolina/South Carolina state line, on Interstate 26 -- I was down to 15 mph, on the steepest bottom part of it, in fourth gear, all the way down in low range on the transmission! I've been up that hill many times in the past, with heavy loads, and I never dropped below seventh gear, in high range, and averaged about 25 mph, going up. It was obvious something major was up with the Kitty-Cat under my hood! It was a sick kitty, to say the least. I was due for routine maintenance service anyway, but I put it off until after Christmas because I wanted to get home for that holiday, at least. And, of course, I did.

I got to Morton on Thursday and proceeded to spend the rest of that day, and half the night in our shop, then in the shop of a local Caterpillar dealer down the road from our yard. They sent me there to get my motor checked out. Our mechanic said it sounded like a bad fuel injector. That had been my suspicion all along, so I concurred. The tech at the Cat dealer hooked up a diagnostic-equipped laptop computer to the ECM (engine computer) and ran about 45 minutes worth of tests on it, while I worked the throttle and ignition switch as he directed me.

Yep, it was a bad injector, all right. A totally dead one, on the number 6 cylinder. In addition, the number 3 cylinder had a broken rocker arm stud, meaning that the valves in that cylinder weren't working properly, which meant, in turn, that I'd been running on just 4 cylinders, out of 6!! No wonder it didn't have any power!! And no wonder my fuel mileage had gone totally to pot! Now I knew why!! The tech worked another two hours, replacing the injector and repairing the broken stud, then cut me loose. Man!! I'm tellling you -- it felt like I had a new truck! It accelerated like a rocket, compared to what it had been doing! The tech said that the injector had probably been going bad for awhile and had gotten worse and worse, before going to Injector Heaven, or wherever they end up when they die. Probably just in a dumpster, in reality. Anyway, you get the idea. Now the truck's not rolling over and playing dead when it sees a hill in the distance; I can actually pull smaller grades without shifting at all, just like I'm supposed to. MUCH better indeed!!!

However, that very necessary work caused me to get a late start toward my Lone Star destination. When the truck was done, I hadn't eaten since late morning, so I gobbled down a sandwich at Arby's, then I laid down in the bunk and passed out. I didn't get started till around noon on Friday and got halfway through Missouri before I stopped for the night. I was still sleepy-headed and wasn't about to drive all night when I didn't have to. I didn't quite have enough hours to get all the way to Texas on Saturday, so I stopped outside Ardmore, OK, and spent Saturday night there. Sixty miles away and a short drive to the delivery yesterday.

So, here I sit at 2:09 P.M., CST, on the last day of 2007, not really expecting anything now, if I haven't heard anything earlier. And I haven't. Might drop this box tomorrow and cruise around the Fort Worth area, seeing what sights I can see. Don't have anything but my phone camera with me, but I can enhance those pix and make them look much better, so I might share some sights with you next week, of an area I operate in very little.

Don't mind running out here now and then. A little Texas Attitude never hurt anyone!!

10-7

DEC. 25TH, 2007

You MUST CLICK for the song to play.

 

 

 

A special wish for all my readers goes out on this most special of days. . .

May each and every one of you have the best and most blessed

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

 

And to my Jewish friends -- hoping you had a Happy Hannukah!!

 

Best Wishes for the coming year from The Dawg!!!

 

I'LL BE HOME FOR CHRISTMAS -- I HOPE -- I THINK!

You MUST CLICK for the song to play.

 

The slow, jazzy, familiar Christmas "theme song" that I included in this entry fits the title, but doesn't really come close to describing the week I had last week. A better piece of music for that would be the William Tell Overture, also known as the Lone Ranger Theme. Rushing around to get it all done and get home for Christmas, but seemingly running into walls everywhere. Pandemonium, in a word.

And I was nowhere near a mall, where that sort of thing is considered normal in this holidaze season.

Things started getting interesting early in the week. I was assigned a load at a customer I dread in South Carolina, where the dock is at the top of a steep driveway, with a curve in it, and is at an oddball angle to the pigpath of a driveway below. It also requires drivers to perform a double drop and hook -- one for the loaded box and another for the empty you bring in. This is necessary because they only load our trailers out of that one dock and they don't have any spotters on their payroll. You, the driver, are also the "spotter."

When I was there before, last summer, there was a vacant lot adjacent to it, where I dropped my empty while I hooked to the loaded one and pulled it around front, out of the way, until I could re-hook to the empty and put it in the dock door. Ahhhh, but everything changes, doesn't it? Yes, indeed, and now that vacant lot is blocked off, the gateway locked up. And now that pigpath of a driveway I mentioned is filled with an assortment of storage trailers and scrap metal hoppers. And if that wasn't enough, a "hopper-hauler" from the local recycling facility was in there setting an empty hopper back down when I slowly crept back there.

"Pardon me while I get in your way," I called out to him, jokingly. He smiled in response, laughingly mentioning the obvious -- that we were, uh, in each other's way, somewhat. Mexican stand-off? No, not quite, but I had gotten out to size up the situation and figure out how the hell I was gonna do this task, with virtually no room in which to manuever a 70-foot-long truck and trailer. "I'm a truck driver," I told him. "We do the impossible every day!" I didn't mention the fact to him that I had absolutely no intention whatsoever of trying to back my rig back out of there, up the hilly driveway and around the curve to the front of the place.

After trying to back blindside into a little cubbyhole on my right, and failing because I was right up against a storage container and had no room at all to swing my tractor around, to get back under my trailer, I had a brainstorm. I managed to pull over to my right just enough for him to squeeze his truck past mine and then I used part of the dock driveway to make a tight buttonhook turn into a space between a storage trailer and the empty hopper he'd just set down. I pulled down far enough to straighten my box out, hoping I wouldn't get stuck, then reversed it, blasting right across the driveway and up the hill, toward the loaded trailer in the dock. I ended up with the ass-end of my empty beside the loaded box and then I had room to pull out of there to my left, headed back up the driveway again. Ah-ha!! The difficult I can do in an instant; the impossible just takes a little longer! I backed my empty into a space between the hoppers and another storage container and ditched it, temporarily. After another 30 minutes, I was headed toward Corinth, Mississippi, and a remanufacturing plant there.

The trip to Missusip went normally and uneventfully. I got there right on time, dropped that trailer and sat next to another empty, expecting to take another load right back out of the place. I wasn't disappointed and got my bills a little later and hooked up to another loaded caboose, for a run, I thought, to West (by God) Virginia. But that never happened at all, as I was asked to swap loads with another driver and take his trailer to upstate New York.

New York??!! The week before Christmas?? Nothing out of that state goes south, that I've seen in ten years! How'm I gonna get home?? We'll take care of you, I was told, but this driver has to get home. Family emergency. Well, crap! Okay, okay!! So I contacted the driver and we agreed to meet up for the swap in a little nothing of a place about 30 miles northeast of the shipper. We did, we swapped, and I was on my way up to the Empire State, still having misgivings about where I was going and the lack of southern-bound backhaul loads.

Well, they did find me a load back south, through a freight broker. Right back to South Carolina, but in a different part of the state from where I'd come. Brokered loads are like the Forrest Gump "box of chocolates;" you never know what you'll get. But this one, amazingly, was a light load, for once, and not the typical brokered heavyweight monster that belongs on a flatbed. A welcome break, when you drive one of my company's castrated trucks and learn to despise heavy loads early on.

The only problem was that the load delivered on Saturday!!  Uh, excuse me, dispatch, but this is a Saturday delivery, on a holiday weekend! Everything will be closing up on me! Are you going to be able to find me a load home for Christmas?? We're working on it now  -- working on getting everyone home, I was informed, curtly. Okay, I'm not stupid -- I know a brush-off when I encounter one. The implication was, "we're busy as hell trying to line up loads; don't call us, we'll call you!" Okayyyyyyy! I'll go away now, and so I did.

So then I managed to get my sleep schedule all screwed up, bigtime. I went from sleeping during the day, to sleeping at night, and then back to day sleep again on Friday. The previous night, I'd gotten my "nap" out well and so wasn't the least bit sleepy that day.  I dozed on and off for 3 or 4 hours, then sat awake, reading and schmoozing, for the rest of that break. Naturally, I was getting drowsy up in the wee hours, as I motored closer to my destination. And the holiday traffic, insane even at 4 A.M., wasn't helping things one bit! I finally rolled into the little town outside Greenville, South Carolina, followed my Qualcomm directions to the letter, and promptly got my ass lost! Don't ever let any trucker tell you that he never gets lost. That driver is a damned liar and I'll call him so to his face!!

I turned left at the second light and that trailer droplot that was supposed to be on my left, a quarter-mile down the road, wasn't to be found anywhere. Well, crap -- I guess they moved the damned thing, I thought! Actually, my thoughts were just a wee bit more profane than that indicates and I started cursing Qualcomm directions in general in my most fluent Texan. My cab  was so filled with blue air from my unprintable observations that I had to roll the window down, to let it escape, so I could see where I was going. Or was that just the rain? Suffice it to say that I was not a happy camper on Saturday morning. Another unknown direction-sending driver was getting his ancestry traced back at least fifty generations and discovering that he was related to a family of jackasses, to put it mildly. I threw the alpha male version of a real hissy-fit! I've worked for it, I've earned it, and nobody's gonna deprive me of it, by Golly!!!

Drove down another street, thinking maybe I'd counted the lights wrong. But nothing there, either. A call to the customer yielded a phone ringing off the hook endlessly, with nobody in the office to answer it, presumably. I followed some trucks down another street, hoping that maybe one or two of them were bound for the same place I was and would lead me right to it, but no such luck was to be had. Basically, I drove around in circles for 30 minutes, asking around on the CB, but getting no one who knew where the place was. Desperately, I parked behind another truck in the turn lane, put my flashers on, and walked toward a little market, hoping someone there would know and I wouldn't get ticketed while I inquired.

At that point, I had some luck. I met the driver of the truck parked in front of mine as he came walking back out of the market. He asked me if I was lost and I told him I sure was, indeed. I told him the place I was looking for and he explained that there was an extra light there now. He bade me to follow him and he took me right to the place, which was located off the third traffic light now, not the second one. They had opened a new street since those directions were sent in and added another traffic signal. Confusing? Yep, especially at 4:30 A.M., when it's still dark outside, raining, and when you haven't had much sleep. Thanking him profusely and wishing him the best of holidays, I was in the dock fifteen minutes after he went back on his way again.

I catnapped while the lumpers unloaded my trailer, then sent in my empty message. I didn't have to wait but a few minutes for the load assignment -- a load from a paper mill, some 100 miles further south, that delivered near Columbus, Ohio on Dec. 26th. I flew down there and got it as quick as I could, then headed toward the Dawg House. By then, though, I was really pooped out and my drive hours were starting to dwindle. I got most of the way back to Spartanburg, then pulled into a rest area for some sleep. I could've pushed myself and made it on home, but why risk an accident when you're that tired?? Not worth it at all.

So, I slept like a baby then got up and rolled in here about mid-morning today. Tried to go shopping, but couldn't find a thing I wanted and the crowds got on my nerves very rapidly. I hate shopping. That part of the holidays sucks, for me, and always has. But, I'll get up REAL EARLY tomorrow and look elsewhere for gifts. "Last Minute Larry" is living up to his legend again this year!!!

10-7

THE HARDEST FAVOR

The moan of pain brought Crankhandle out of his thoughts. He scanned the highway and his mirror, making sure there was nothing to be concerned about on the road, then looked over toward the floorboard on the passenger side of his truck.

"What's wrong, Muffin? Huh? What is it, girl? You a-hurtin' again?"

Hearing her name called, Muffin, Crank's  little tan mixed-breed dog looked up at him. Her expression told him that the last bump he'd hit had jarred her painfully.

"Awwwww! Okay -- you just wait till I can stop and daddy'll get you a cushion to lay on, okay? Poor baby!!" She looked at him as if in perfect agreement with that idea.

Crank turned his attention back to the road ahead of him and sighed. Dog was getting old, he thought. She had these painful spells that came and went, and they seemed to be happening more frequently nowadays. Her ears weren't nearly as sharp as they'd been a few years back, and her legs were so weak now that she couldn't make the hop up onto the passenger seat any more. Probably not too much longer and she'd no longer be with him. His heart grew heavy at the thought of that. Muffin had been his constant companion on the road and off for almost ten years. He shook his head, not wanting to contemplate life without his beloved pet around any longer. He tried to force himself to think of other things, but his thoughts kept coming back to Muffin.

A few more miles went by and then Crank spotted a rest area, where he pulled into a vacant truck slot. He got up from his seat at the wheel and went into the sleeper, where he grabbed an extra pillow he kept in one of his cabinets. Putting it on the floor, he picked the dog up as gently as he could and placed her on it, petting her head and shoulder lovingly. Muffin licked his hand and looked up at him with the expression of unconditional love and devotion that all dogs have for their owners.

"Now you got something to protect you from those mean old bumps on the road! You stay here, girl, till I go use the little boy's room, then we'll go on to this shipper."

Walking back to his truck from the building a few minutes later, he looked at the empty driver's window, realizing how much he missed her sitting on his seat, faithfully waiting to greet him with her yipping bark and doggie smile when he returned. She just wasn't able to do that anymore, and it made him sad.

He went through the gears, getting back up to speed again and idly watched the white divider lines flash by for a few minutes. His thoughts drifted back to when he and Muffin had first met. She'd been fully grown when he first saw her, although she was still quite young at that time. Laurie, a waitress who worked in one of his regular watering holes, had taken him out behind the restaurant, where she'd made a little makeshift doghouse for her out of a large cardboard box. She had explained that the dog was a stray and had just showed up one day. She and another waitress had taken her in until they could find someone who wanted a pet.  

"Boss said she's gotta go," Laurie had told Crank. "Can't keep a dog around here because of the health department regulations. Heck, Crank, you need a pet to ride with you! Be great company for you to have around. You won't get so lonesome all the time! Look at her! Ain't she the sweetest little thing??"

Crank looked at the cute little mutt, with her long, curly tan hair and the one little tuft that half-covered her eyes. The dog looked up at him, grinning as only a dog can do and yipped. He reached out to pet her and she licked him, then looked up appealingly at him. Crank's heart had melted. She was adorable, just as Laurie had said, and it was love at first sight.

"Hell, I reckon she likes me. Looks like she's adopted me. Okay, I'll take her along and see how she likes truckin.' Been thinking about getting me a pet anyway. She is a cute little thing!"

"Oh, look at you, Crank!! You're already in love with her!! A woman can tell these things, y'know? One woman to another!! " Laurie giggled and petted the dog affectionately. "Gonna miss you, little gal, but I know you're in good hands with Crank!"

The rest, as they said, was history now. The dog had taken to riding in the truck like a duck takes to water. She was a smart one, too -- easy as pie to train and housebreak, and she had the sweetest temperment Crank had ever known in a dog. He'd named her Muffin because of her particular affection for the blueberry muffins that Crank ate for breakfast all the time. She would roll over, jump up and down and beg for a bite whenever he broke open the cellophane wrapper on one of them. He ended up giving her nearly half of every one he ate.

After picking up his load, Crank drove another three hours before pulling into a truckstop for his DOT break. He lifted Muffin from the truck, hooked up her leash, then took her over to a grassy area where she slowly walked and did her business in the accustomed routine manner. After he'd put her back in the truck and locked it, Crank went inside to shower and eat supper. He brought a doggie bag with scraps back out with him -- another regular routine -- then filled Muffin's water bowl and put the scraps in her dish, leaving her to eat, while he sat on his bunk and watched a show or two on his TV set.

Growing drowsy after an hour or two, Crank went back up front, to tend to Muffin's dishes. He saw that she had hardly eaten at all. She nosed at the food, but wouldn't eat it. Strange, he thought, and totally unlike her at all. She had always been an enthusiastic eater. Oh, well, maybe she just wasn't hungry. He tossed the scraps away and emptied the water bowl, then picked Muffin up and put her down at the foot of his bunk, where she always slept. He turned off the TV, stripped to his skivvies, turned out the sleeper lights and turned in. He was asleep in minutes.

Next morning, he knew something was seriously wrong with Muffin. She just lay listlessly on the bunk, while he put on clean clothes, not bothering to lick him and play with his socks, as she'd always done. He petted her head, and she looked up at him. There was recognition in her eyes, as always, but she wasn't smiling. And there was something else in those familiar canine eyes; something like a plea for help. Muffin was sick, Crank knew. Just how sick he didn't know, but he did know that he needed to get her to a vet as soon as he could. Of course that would have to be after he delivered his load, and he still had to drive four hours to that customer.

"Just hang in there, girl! I'll get you to see a doc just as soon as I get this load off and let dispatch know! I promise."

On the drive to the customer, Muffin groaned and moaned many times, even when the road was smooth, as if the truck's vibration was hurting her. He kept driving, telling her to hang in there. It seemed like days before he drove onto the customer's lot, but he finally did. Fortunately, they got him unloaded quickly. He got his signed bills, pulled over to a corner of the lot and called his dispatcher, telling him about Muffin's condition. Dispatchers being dispatchers, of course, he wanted him to pick up another load first, almost a hundred miles away. Crank, who was usually very cooperative, rebelled.

"No, not this time! My dog comes first. Hell, she's like family to me! They gave me the number of a vet in town here and told me I could drop my trailer while I take Muffin over there. I don't know where any doctor is in that other town. Heck, it's so small they might not have a vet around there! I gotta get Muffin looked at right away! Hell, haven't you ever had a sick pet??!! For God's sake, man! I usually do anything you want, but this is different. My dog's suffering!!"

Crank's dispatcher finally agreed, realizing that Crank wasn't going to budge this time. He dropped his trailer where it sat, called the vet's office, and was told to come on in, since it was an emergency. The receptionist gave him good directions and told him where he needed to park his tractor. Crank fired up the diesel and wasted no time driving over to the office. He picked Muffin up tenderly, causing her to moan and yelp a time or two and noting that she had vomited on the floorboards. Yellowish fluid. Sick dog vomit. Being as gentle as he could possibly be, Crank carried her into the office.

He was called back into the exam room in less than thirty minutes. He shook hands with the veterinarian and told him about Muffin's painful spells, her lack of eating the night before, and how she'd acted this morning. The doctor had him put her on his examining table and asked him to stay while he did the exam.

"Sometimes it's much easier for them if their owner is around to comfort them," he explained. "You can pet her and talk to her while I examine her." Crank agreed.

While the doc took her temperature, then prodded and poked here and there on Muffin's anatomy, Crank kept up a steady chatter with her, trying to soothe her as best he could. He stroked her back and head. One spot the vet pressed on Muffin's stomach brought a yelp of pain from her. He pressed again, with the same results. He shook his head.

"What's wrong? Is it bad?" Crank wanted to know.

"It's -- not good," the doctor confirmed. "Not good at all, if it's what I suspect it is, and I'm pretty sure. Just give me time to finish up."

He wrapped up the exam, then told Crank to leave Muffin where she was and come back to his office. He indicated a chair and Crank sat down, while he went into another room, to study an x-ray he'd made of Muffin's stomach region. His face looked grim when he returned and Crank knew that the news wouldn't be good at all.

The vet's voice was gentle as he broke the news to Crank. "Muffin has a tumor in her stomach. Quite a large one. Looks like it's been growing for some time now. It's cancer and it's in an advanced stage. Her pains, the anorexia she had last night -- those are all symptoms."

The news went through Crank like a bolt of lightning. "Is -- is there anything that can be done? Anything at all?"

The vet shook his head sadly. "No. I'm afraid not."

"How long does she have?"

The vet took a deep breath. "Not long, probably. A few weeks at best. But she'll keep suffering and it'll get worse every day. You'll be distracted with worry out there on the road. You won't be as safe as you need to be with her on your mind." He looked at Crank, his eyes sad, but knowing. "The best thing you can do for her now is let me put her down. End her suffering."

Crank was stunned. "I -- I -- I just don't know if I can, doc!! That dog -- she's like family to me. I love her so much!! I just -- I -- I don't know!!"

The doctor's voice was sympathetic and soothing. "You'll be doing her the greatest favor you can ever do her. I know it's hard. I realize that -- believe me --I do. But it's for the best, for her sake. Look, think about it a little while. Just sit down and think about it. She's never going to get better and she's in pain. Think of how hard it is on her! What's hardest to do? Putting her out of her pain, or watching her suffer and slowly die? I'll be back in a few minutes. Think it over." Before Crank could say anything else, he walked out of the room.

Crank walked over to the table where Muffin still lay and stroked her tenderly. She looked up at him in response, but she was listless -- not herself at all. And never would be again, he knew. She couldn't talk, of course, was unable to tell him what was wrong, or how she felt, but it was obvious that she was very, very sick. "Poor baby," he said, over and over, as he stroked her. He closed his eyes. He knew that this day would come, eventually, and now it was here. He had to make a decision and the doctor was right; worrying about her would affect his performance on the job. And it would bring him almost as much pain as she was in, watching her suffer and knowing that there was nothing he could do to help her. Finally, Crank took three long, deep breaths and straightened up. He'd made his decision; the only logical one he could make.

"Go ahead, doctor," he told the vet, when he returned. "Put her down. You're absolutely right; it's the best thing I can do for her."

"All right." He drew out a syringe from a drawer and took a glass vial from a wall cabinet, then busied himself preparing the massive, fatal overdose of drug. "You can wait in my office, if you don't want to watch it," he offered.

"No, I'll stay in here, right beside her, and pet her one last time."

"Very well." They stood on opposite sides of the table, Crank's hand on Muffin's shoulder, as the doctor took one of her paws in his hand and held the syringe close to a spot on her leg, where a major vein lay just under her skin. Muffin twitched once as the needle went in. The vet began to push the syringe's plunger, injecting the drug into her vein.

"Goodbye, my little friend. Sure gonna miss you," Crank intoned quietly, as the plunger went down all the way. Responding one last time to his voice, Muffin looked up  at him, making eye contact for a long moment. Then her eyes slowly closed. Forever.

Crank felt hot tears welling up in his eyes, then broke completely down for the first time in years, crying as he hugged Muffin's still form on the table and kissing the top of her head. Finally, he gathered his composure and apologized for his uncharacteristic and unmanly behavior.

"It's perfectly all right to cry," the vet told him. "You loved her. I understand that. Anyone would. It's the same as losing a family member, or any loved one. Don't be a bit ashamed of that. I know how much it hurts. But you did the right thing. That's what really matters the most."

"Thanks, doc. But the look in her eyes -- that's what got to me. You didn't see that because she was looking at me. Doctor, she was thanking me. She really was. There's no mistaking her last expression. I know now what I did was right. She told me herself. Still hurts like hell, though. Take some time to get over it."

"I know, but you will. And hey, I know it's too early to talk about this, really, but there's other dogs out there that need adopting. Get you another traveling companion."

"Oh, I probably will, soon as I get over Muffin a little."

 

That afternoon, Crank buried Muffin under a tree near the bank of a little stream. It was a place where they had romped and played several times in the past and Muffin had always enjoyed the trips here. It was a fitting final resting place for her. He straightened up after he'd covered her grave over.

"Goodbye, Muffin. If there's a doggie heaven,  I know that's where you are now. Maybe we'll see each other again. Someday."

Slowly, his heart still heavy as lead, Crank walked back to his truck, started it up, put it in gear and drove away. He'd miss Muffin forever, but she was better off now, he knew. Wiping away tears again, he headed up the road, toward another destination and another delivery.

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