A Flash in the Pan (Or rather, the Truck)

Flash has been at it again. As you may remember from a previous column, Flash is the Stroupe family dog. Fully grown I suppose, but still a puppy. Previously I relayed to you the tale of Flash getting a fish hook stuck in her nose. The story ended happily but not before Flash relieved herself (number 2) in our driveway during the fish hook removal procedure. I’ve always been more of a dog guy than a cat person. Cats make my eyes itch and my throat scratch. And I get freaked out when cats purr their little feline motors. I realize they make good pets, but I don’t trust them. Those little motors are tools of manipulation. So when I tell you that Flash is driving me a little batty lately, please understand I’m not down on the canine kingdom. I’ve always liked the image of me driving down the road in my pickup truck with my dog propped up in the back cab biting at air and such. But when my wife encouraged me to take Flash on a little ride recently, I was hesitant because I knew I had to make a few stops. In the end I relented and Flash jumped in the back bed. We did fairly well until the trip home from the grocery store. About a mile from our house, I noticed that an impatient Flash had crawled atop my tool box in the back, a precarious perch from which to operate. Soon afterwards, the image in my rear view mirror revealed only two legs and a wagging tail, indicating that Flash’s front legs were on top of my truck and she was seeing open road ahead of her. At this point I slowed down and called home so everyone could witness the scene when I drove up. Upon hanging up, I discovered that the scene in my rear view mirror no longer revealed any animal body parts- eerily similar to the sled scene in “How the Grinch Stole Christmas.” The scratching on top of my truck above my head filled in the blanks for me. I slowed to a near crawl as my house appeared in the distance. To my left I saw on the ground a dog shadow postured proudly and majestically just over my head. When I pulled into the driveway, a completely cracked up family laughed as Flash slid down my windshield, darted across the hood, then leapt to the pavement below. A minute or two later, as things were calming down, an 11-year-old Stroupe hollered, “Hey Daddy, why is there shoo-shoo (number two) in the back of your truck?” That was it. I pretended to come unglued as everyone else laughed hysterically. “You just took your last ride in my truck,” I scolded an unashamed puppy. My wife tried to make excuses about how Flash was nervous and excited. I replied by reminding her that Flash turns every scene into a bathroom incident. And my poor truck has now been victimized three times by number two. Twice in the bed and once in the backseat. Expect to hear more about Flash in the future, though the stories will unlikely be about her riding in the back (or on top) of my truck anytime soon.