When You're Happy to See a Good Ol' Boy
This morning, while I was on the home stretch of my jog--enjoying a little Ray LaMongtagne on my Shuffle, oblivious to pretty much everything around me--a pit bull came out of nowhere and lunged across the street at me. I screamed and covered my face just as a Dodge Ram pick-up, bigger than life, skidded up right in front of Cujo, scaring him back into the yard from whence he came. The guy at the wheel was wearing a straw cowboy hat and dark sunglasses. I had no doubt he had a shotgun behind the seat. He rolled his window down:
TR: Thank god you drove up.
GOB: I saw the whole thing. Pretty scary. I have little kids, so I don't appreciate folks letting their dogs run loose. You ok?
TR: I nodded and thanked him, keeping my eye on Killer.
And then he waited, and watched the dog, who was still drooling at me, until I was long out of sight, making me sorry for every bad thing I've ever said about men with trucks and belt buckles the size of license plates. If I saw him again, I'd buy him a six-pack of Bud.