My truck is missing
Well, folks, as you know by now, I have this small red truck that my mistress drives for me. Behind the seats there are two jump seats, and when they're folded down, you can fit this plywood shelf on them where I sit when we're out driving. The shelf is carpeted so I don't slip on it; I can sit and look ahead, lie down and rest, or stand up and bark, should that be called for. Best of all, my head just fits between my mistress's seat back and the side window, and when I look out that way, she often pets me, and that's so nice.
OK, so the other day we went to town for some shopping, my mistress, my auntie, and I. It's a 14 mile drive, and when we got there, my mistress was worried: she said the brakes didn't work as they should. So off she went to the place where they look after my truck. The service manager said the truck had to have new brakes and he'd have to keep it there until Tuesday when he'd get the parts he needed. Then he gave us a small red car as a loaner.
We truckers don't care much for small cars. I was very concerned when we had to leave the truck there--I'd have to ride in this little thing that didn't look very safe. On top of it all, I didn't know what back doors were for. My auntie held open the passenger's side doors, front for her and back for me. But I'm used to getting in through the front door and then jump over the console into the back, and that's what I did in that car thing, as well. Why should I change my habits just because I have to ride in a car?
I'm afraid I did some growling as we left the car dealer and I saw the truck staying there. It means a lot to me. My mistress always warns strangers who come up to the side window to talk to her not to put their hands inside, and for good reason, too. Once when we were out driving, she started feeling poorly, and drove to the hospital to see a doctor about it. She left the truck, with me in it, in the ambulance driveway, and inside, she gave the keys to security and asked them to move the truck to a parking space.
You kidding? Was I going to let some stranger inside the truck to move it? Security went back to my mistress's bedside and said that they'd never seen such a fierce dog in their lives. So the old man had to quit work early and take the train and a cab to get to the hospital, and then the truck got parked where it belonged. Boy did I wag my tail at him when he got there--it was a hot day and I was bored in that truck. But it had to be guarded, so what's a dog to do?
Well, folks, as you know by now, I have this small red truck that my mistress drives for me. Behind the seats there are two jump seats, and when they're folded down, you can fit this plywood shelf on them where I sit when we're out driving. The shelf is carpeted so I don't slip on it; I can sit and look ahead, lie down and rest, or stand up and bark, should that be called for. Best of all, my head just fits between my mistress's seat back and the side window, and when I look out that way, she often pets me, and that's so nice.
OK, so the other day we went to town for some shopping, my mistress, my auntie, and I. It's a 14 mile drive, and when we got there, my mistress was worried: she said the brakes didn't work as they should. So off she went to the place where they look after my truck. The service manager said the truck had to have new brakes and he'd have to keep it there until Tuesday when he'd get the parts he needed. Then he gave us a small red car as a loaner.
We truckers don't care much for small cars. I was very concerned when we had to leave the truck there--I'd have to ride in this little thing that didn't look very safe. On top of it all, I didn't know what back doors were for. My auntie held open the passenger's side doors, front for her and back for me. But I'm used to getting in through the front door and then jump over the console into the back, and that's what I did in that car thing, as well. Why should I change my habits just because I have to ride in a car?
I'm afraid I did some growling as we left the car dealer and I saw the truck staying there. It means a lot to me. My mistress always warns strangers who come up to the side window to talk to her not to put their hands inside, and for good reason, too. Once when we were out driving, she started feeling poorly, and drove to the hospital to see a doctor about it. She left the truck, with me in it, in the ambulance driveway, and inside, she gave the keys to security and asked them to move the truck to a parking space.
You kidding? Was I going to let some stranger inside the truck to move it? Security went back to my mistress's bedside and said that they'd never seen such a fierce dog in their lives. So the old man had to quit work early and take the train and a cab to get to the hospital, and then the truck got parked where it belonged. Boy did I wag my tail at him when he got there--it was a hot day and I was bored in that truck. But it had to be guarded, so what's a dog to do?