Hit ‘n’ Run
Yesterday morning at about 8:30 I was driving to a friend’s house so I could watch her daughter for a few hours. They live way the heck out in the country. As in, small town to state highway to rural highway to dirt road to long-ass ‘driveway’. At the same time, though, it’s only a 10-minute drive from my house in the bustling metropolis that is Kirksville (I love this town).
I’m on the ‘dirt road’ leg of my journey, maybe half a mile down it, when I see something in the road. Something large and black and white. Something unmoving. Something…smiling at me?!
I stop my car about 20 feet in front of the grinning Australian shepherd which has decided to lay in the road. I honk my horn. He jumps up, and begins doing the “Hey I’m a stupid dog!” dance in front of my car, so close I have to lean over the wheel to see him. I honk again, so he dances his way over to the side of the car and, thus, the road. Feeling as though I’ve earned his permission, I begin to creep forward. But as soon as my car starts to move, he merrily dances back in front of the car, causing me to slam on my brakes.
I roll down the window and yell “Hey! Move it! Move! Move!” which lures the shepherd back to the driver’s side window. I keep talking to him as I again begin to inch forward. Then there he goes again, trying to throw himself under the wheel. This dog is suicidal, and happy about it.
Again I honk, again he moves, again I drive, again I slam on the brakes. That’s some herding instinct this dog’s got. And maybe it was the wool yarn in my knitting bag, but this thing clearly thought I was a sheep. In desperation, I decideto try just going, thinking maybe he was just playing with me all along and would dance out of the way once it became apparent I wasn’t going to stop. The only problem is, dammit, I just can’t bring myself to do it. Visions of my own dog flash in my mind…how would I feel if some evil 22-year-old in a Grand Am ran over my precious Maxie? Sighing, I continue trying to convince the shepherd that I am not, indeed, a sheep (of this, I’m relatively certain–although the availability of wool would be rather convenient).
I look over to the nearest house, where I presume my foe lives. Despite the fact that I’d just spent fully 10 minutes honking at their dog, no one emerges. They’re probably all inside, laughing at me. So I pick up the phone and call the woman whose daughter I was supposed to be babysitting. “Nancy, I’m on my way to your house, and there’s a dog in the road, and I’m gonna hit him, and he won’t MOOOOVE!” I wailed, clearly indicating how unfit I am for country life.
Nancy tells me that this particular Australian shepherd is well known for his car-herding attempts, and that he tries to guide her Subaru every time she or her husband drives home. Patiently, Nancy coaches me on how to escape him. “Just go,” she assures me, “He’ll get out of the way. He always does. I promise.”
“Fine,” I reply, then tell her that if I hit some poor person’s favorite pet, it was her fault and not mine. Taking a deep breath, I inch forward, as slowly as the car can go. The dog merrily hops in front of the car every few feet, but always jumps back out of the way once it became clear I wasn’t going to stop. After a couple hundred yards (the edge of his property, I presume), he abruptly stops and allows me to continue on my way, unherded. I swear I see him laughing at me as I drive off.
Just kidding. But if that did happen (the blizzard and the burning, not the killing), all I would have is 100g of Urban Silk and 5 pairs’ worth of sock yarn. And THAT, my friends, is not enough! Hence, as soon as I have discretionary income, I must get myself down to Hillcreek for some serious stash augmentation treatment. I need mooooooooore sock yarn! I need moooooooore worsted weight! I need enough of a delicious DK to make the 
