My palms slick on the steering wheel, I glare out of the corner of my eye at my furry passenger. My fetid, furry passenger.

 

She pants heavily, as if complaining about how tiring her evening had been. I glare directly at her as we turn onto our street.

 

Another whiff of her turns my head back towards the fresh air coming in my window. My stomach was starting to turn.

 

I'm washed down with sweat. The "secret belly panel" of my maternity jeans is no secret to me as it sticks to my sides and back hotly. I feel a kick and a punch from my belly, as if he too is uncomfortable in our current state.

 

"You can blame the dog for this one," I want to say.

 

"What exactly is your problem," I ask in the calmest voice I can muster. My furry passenger cocks her head to one side as if she isn't sure I'm talking to her, though I am. She seems thoroughly bothered that I've distracted her from looking out the window and drooling down the side of the car. Maybe she finds this odor offensive too?

 

This miasma is something like garbage and road kill. Maybe road kill that had eaten garbage? I look to my right. She's smiling up at me. Her coat had bits of... I'm not sure, stuck to it, in it. An hour on the run and she was matted, sweaty, and disgusting.

 

"You stink!" And I realize by this point. I probably do too.

 

I spent the last hour tracking down my passenger. First, awkwardly stumbling about the neighborhood, through yards and alleys, calling out, "Honey! Honey! Where are you?" Then muttering "stupid dog" under my breath. Eventually after seeing her a dozen times only for her to catch wind of me and run the other way, I went home and got the car keys.

 

Anyone could steal this mutt. She'd accept a ride from a serial killer.

 

Now, in my car, trapped with this unbarable odor. A bath is next on the agenda. It brought me back to our first meeting.

 

She stank then too. I wasn't even sure what color she was. 

 

I grabbed her in my arms and cuddled her close, despite the stench. "I love you!"

 

She looked up at me and her tongue rolled out. 

 

"You love me." I told her.

 

"And, you need a bath."

 

Two shampoos later and in a tub fillling with blackish water, I could finally distinguish the color of her coat. 

 

"Honey!"

 

She looked at me inquisitively.

 

"You. You are the color of honey. My little Honey." I kissed her wet little forhead and wrapped her in a towel.

 

Now, almost 8 years later, once again with fur of some indistinguishable color and a horrifying smell, we were back where we started. Boy, did she need a bath.

 

I guess it was just lucky I'd found her when I did.

 

For the last hour, all I could think of was either her, hit by a car, dead in a ditch or me finding her and wringing her neck. Neither outcome good. Especially the second half hour of the search, I wanted to question each driver I passed. Accusingly, showing a picture of my little Honey. "Have you seen this dog? Did you run her down with your car? Dog killer!"

 

Finally, I had found her, standing next to a stop sign, laughing at me. Her eyes twinkling in the twilight. I think she heard me coming. Her ears perk up and she gives me her sweet smile. "I love you," she says.

 

I fling open the car door and she climbs in next to me. Kissing me wetly on the cheek. I wipe the slobber off with the back of my hand and spare her a cutting glance.

 

"You love me," she says.

 

Awfully familiar.  

 

 

 

 Create your own educational wiki!HelpPublic, not yet premium Privacy Policy RSS