Our house is for sale. I plan my errands around showings. We’re building a new house. Exciting, yes, but it requires a lot of shopping.  I hate shopping.  Yesterday I bought two toilets. They were rocking away at their own not-so-synchronized rhythms in the back of the Jeep when I returned to my street.  The realtor’s car is still in the driveway so we rock and roll around to the other side of the circle.

I’m  looking for a place to pull over when I am distracted by a jogger on my right, great pace, well articulated calves …

Ruth's Farm 2011 sm

Photo by Cheryl Andrews©

There’s a twitch of black on the other side of the street – a bottle brush snaps into a high question mark. For a nano-reflex my foot hovers over the gas pedal. His posture, the way he shifts nose down and seems to be eyeballing my car, I actually think he’s going to give chase. Before I can shake my head at my own foolishness, he charges straight at me, broadside!

A ridiculous vision of tiny pointy teeth sinking into my back tire pops into my head. By reflex I put the pedal to the metal, as the two toilets bump and jive against the back door.

Panic strikes as another vision pops up … a furry black pancake on the street. It will be all my fault. Children will cry. Hell, I’ll cry.

He misses me. I miss him. His timing is off. My foot is heavy. The little bugger mounts, then squats, on the curb on the other side, bottle brush snapping and twitching.