I picked up a tiny hitchhiker yesterday on the way to Mom and Dad’s. A small, filthy, reddish-brown dog was wandering around the parking lot at the Tastee-Freez in Mansfield, Mo., with a forlorn expression on her face. The employees said they thought she had been dumped, as she’d been hanging around all day, staring in the front door, darting in and out of traffic, and lying down next to people’s cars as if she expected someone to give her a ride. She was obviously in danger, and I think we have long since established that I am a sucker, so I bought her a hamburger and let her follow me into the car.
I think she’s a mix of Italian greyhound and possibly basenji. She’s built like an Iggy, but her coat is about the color and texture of a basenji’s, and she has a wrinkly little forehead like a basenji. She’s also extremely quiet, and her only vocalization thus far has been a peculiar little squeaky cry that didn’t really sound like a dog.
I have been referring to her as “Trillian,” after the character in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, but Ron thinks that’s too obscure, so I guess I’ll just call her Bobby McGee. (The original Bobby, as you’ll recall, was a girl; Janis just changed the gender when she recorded the song.)
On an unrelated note, I got 42.25 mpg on the way out here yesterday. I was driving my Honda Fit, which is rated at 28 city/34 highway. My previous record for a non-hybrid vehicle was 41.7 mpg. Shell gas rocks….