Roadkill, Part II

Last night, I went out to run a bit late. I know it was stupid to go after dark, but I was wearing a neon green Casella Waste Management T-shirt. I figure if it is safe for garbage men at dawn, it's good enough for me. Anyway, I was off doing the latest bastardization of Pig Farm, when I ran into some trouble-- a Good Samaritan issue.

I was passing by the pigs on Stateline-- a bit ripe at this point in the summer-- when a little dog came running into the road, complaining about the smell or something. He was a pocket dog, a Paris Hilton slap-bracelet. But he was in the road and he was following me. I started walking, trying to get him to turn around and maybe this is where I went wrong, but when I got back up to speed, he was planted in the center of the westbound lane, seated and ready to guard. Which, of course, is when I saw the headlights turn toward us.

I don't like watching things die, especially when I'm the one who provoked them to leave home. So, this SuperDuty SuperHuge truck is barrelling toward us and I'm on the shoulder and the dog is still in the middle of the road. With a few hundred yards to spare, I do the stupid thing and jump in front of the dog and start waving my arms like a deranged cheerleader. (Really, Safety First campaign? Did my public school fail the "Crossing the Street" lessons?) The driver honks and throws on the brakes, giving me time to pick up that stupidfuckingdog and chuck it onto it's own lawn. It's shaking. I'm pissed. It's pissed itself. No one is happy.

The driver rolls down his window and with my face level with his sideboard, I manage to explain "dog," before hopping back on the shoulder and running off. Was chased by two other small/disposable dogs on the way back through College Park, but nothing dramatic.

In other animal kingdom news, I saw four deer, three turkeys, and two owls on Sunday. Feels like Thanksgiving...