I believe I neglected to mention one little event that occured during the *heart attack episode* last week. The hospital where my mother had her surgery was, as I said, a 4-5 hour drive from home. As I also said, the trip took a million years due to the fact that we had to stop periodically to let Mom walk around and *circulate*. Doctors orders. As you can only imagine, after three quarters of a million miles Mom, Dad, and I were not only exhausted, we (at least I!) needed to drink. STAT. (Poor Mom can only have 1 drink a day and Dad has switched to light beer as a gesture of sympathy.)
As we headed into the last leg of the endless journey, Dad decided he needed to drive. My car. OK, ya, whatever. By this time, he had become ever-so-comfy with The Impala;, thus my Outlander became a complete piece of shit. The seat was not comfy, the mirrors were wierd, where was the window control, bleah bleah. I held my tongue in light of the fact that he had been thru the horrible experience of having his life partner suffer a heart attack while driving in the middle of BooFoo Egypt. The car became silent as we headed into the home stretch. All of the sudden, I heard Dad say, "No NO little doggie, get back off the road." I looked up to see a little dog run halfway across the highway. My stomach lurched. I couldn't look. "OMG, RAAAAYYYY...!!!" screamed HealingFromAHeartAttackMom. We hit that dog at about 70 mph with a semi right beside us and a sedan on our tail. There was nothing Ray could do. It was the most horrid crunching sound I have ever heard. I own 2 dogs. Two dogs that I love and appreciate every day they greet me at the door like I am the best thing since milkbones and I am indeed the very highlight of their day. Even when I just return from a 5-minute stint at the Motel 6 laundry building. I just spent over $2,000, several vacation days, and numerous tears of sympathy on one of them to keep her happy and comfortable. MY CAR hit that confused little dog whose shithead owners let him run out onto the highway. I thought the three of us were going to be sick. Suddenly it didn't matter if we were in a shiny new car or an imported crossover vehicle that irritated the hell out of Dad. After making sure Mom was still breathing and checking our own pants, we pulled over to inspect the damage. I stepped out of the car thinking if a dog part was hanging anywhere off my car I was going to walk home.
My car, known as *The Deathmobile*, is now in the shop. Body damage and major alignment job. I guess the good thing is that Mom is still on the mend, I give my dogs some extra hugs every night, and we are home safe and sound. Oh ya, Dad had his light beer, Mom had her semi-virgin cocktail, and I am properly sedated.