Road Apples by Tim Sanders
Dec. 10, 2012
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Back at the KFC again, Fido? Lothar and Ricky were sitting on the front porch, having another one of their serious discussions. Some people liked talking about the weather, crops, college football, and other trivialities, but their minds tended to wander into unfamiliar territory. They liked exploring new vistas. They were deep thinkers. LOTHAR: I seen on CBS yesterday that they was learning dogs to drive in New Zealand. RICKY: Oh, that's another one of your stories, Lothar. LOTHAR: I swear it's true. They had several dogs that applied, and the ones that passed the test got into the program. RICKY: What kind of test? LOTHAR: A driving test, I reckon. Dogs is like people, you know. Some has a talent for driving, and some doesn't. When I was trying to learn little Gypsy to drive, we had an awful time. I had an old Ford pickup back then, and her little legs wouldn't let her reach neither the clutch nor the accelerator, and every time she'd scooch down in the seat to shift gears or speed up, her head wound up way down below the steering wheel and she couldn't see nothing. I tried to modify the truck some so she could use the pedals, but then I couldn't drive because it jammed my knees up into my face. We finally decided she wasn't cut out for driving. RICKY: What kind of a dog was little Gypsy? LOTHAR: She wasn't no dog, she was my second wife, Gypsy Rose LeCroy of the Sylacauga LeCroys. I married her after Irene and before Juanita. She was three foot nine, and had a good paying job as a carnival midget until she had that damned growth spurt when she was 26. RICKY: And you're gonna tell me that when you couldn't even teach a short woman to drive, somebody in New Zealand can teach a dog–hey, by the way, just where is New Zealand, anyhow? LOTHAR: I think it's over there near Austria or Mongolia. All I know is they celebrate Christmas in the summertime and barbecue parakeets. And like I said, can't all creatures drive. Only the ones that has a natural talent for it. Like Juanita, who was a regular whiz, and could hit whatever she aimed at. Or like little Ike. RICKY: Who's little Ike? LOTHAR: Don't you remember when my cousin Emerson won that $10,000 lottery in Georgia and bought him that Hardly Davis and come up here with that Mexican Hairless dog of his riding on the back? He had that little helmet he made for Ike out of half a coconut, and had cut two holes in it for his ears to stick out, and strapped it on, along with that little tiny leather vest with the studs on it, and Ike didn't mind at all. He sat up there with his paws on Emerson's shoulders like a regular little biker man, and Emerson always said he wanted to buy a dirt bike for Ike and see if– RICKY: That dog wasn't driving the motorcycle, he was only sitting there. Like the way my beagles used to ride in the bed of the pickup. And besides, even if it's possible–and I ain't saying it is–what's the point of learning a dog to drive a car? LOTHAR: They wasn't real clear on that part, except they said it was a real breakthrough. I give it some thought, and it seems to me like if a blind man had a seeing-eye dog who could also drive, then he wouldn't have to take the bus no more. He'd have his own chauffeur. And talk about designated drivers, remember that time when me and Smokey went squirrel hunting and I had got hold of some bad corn liquor and had to pull over on the way home and sleep and then the police they raised a big fuss over the car being parked on the courthouse lawn, and– RICKY: Yeah, and I suppose if old Smokey had got behind the wheel and drove you home, and they'd pulled him over, he could of showed 'em his dog license hanging on his flea collar and everything would of been just dandy. And that little fiest could of opened your door and pulled you into the house and tucked you in bed and– LOTHAR: How come you always look on the negative side, Ricky? RICKY: Even if you'd of learned old Smokey to drive like Dale Earnhardt, the very first squirrel he seen run across the road he'd of hit the gas and took off into the woods after it at 80 mph, and you'd of woken up half drunk, looking at a bunch of trees and not knowing where you was at. And if your blind man was headed down the road and his seeing-eye chauffeur spotted a cat in his neighbor's yard, then just where do you think that car would wind up? LOTHAR: Seeing-eye dogs is special trained to ignore cats. If they took off after every cat they seen, they'd be dragging their owners all over town. And you don't ever hear of that, do you? RICKY: Just because seeing-eye dogs don't chase cats is no reason to go around giving driver's licenses to dogs. Everybody knows dogs is color blind, and can't tell a green light from a red light, and not one dog in a hundred can read, so road signs don't do them no good at all. And what about working the windshield wipers and the radio and CD, and pumping gas? And when another driver lays on his horn, do they just honk back, or pull over and howl for ten minutes? Just because a bunch of ninnies in New Zealand learn dogs to drive a little car while they run alongside and give 'em a doggie snack when they manage to miss a tree, you think pretty soon dogs all over the world will be whizzing up and down the freeways like they was at the Talladega 500? LOTHAR: If it was up to you, Ricky, we'd all still be riding horses. RICKY: Maybe so, but how about parallel parking? Momma is 73, and she still can't parallel park. Show me a blue tick hound that can parallel park, and then I'll listen to your driving dog tales. LOTHAR; Oh shoot, Ricky, let's change the subject. RICKY: You brung it up. LOTHAR: Shut up, Ricky! |