It was already late evening when the emergency call came in from Mr. Chauvin. A calf was down with a high temperature and cough. The symptoms sounded like calf diphtheria. Very serious if left untreated. Two hours later, and she was finally headed back home to her warm waiting bed. El held the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip of death as she tried to make it home. Her jaw tightened as another rise loomed in the darkness, illuminated only by her headlights. She would need more speed to make it up this one. As gently as possible, she added pressure to the gas. Old Patricia was a finicky gal with a squishy gas peddle. Holding her breath, the truck began the ascent. Near the crest, Patricia began to protest. Then, as if things weren’t bad enough, the front right tire blew, sending the back end into a swishing fishtail. El tried desperately to regain control of the old Chevy. But she knew she was losing the battle. “Oh shit!” The drainage ditch that ran parallel with the road materialized from the darkness in the beams of Patricia’s headlights. “Shit, shit, double shit!” That ditch was calling her name. Loudly. And it wasn’t taking no for an answer. Metal crunched, and the undercarriage screeched as if in pain. This was not going to end well. Her beloved truck came to a sudden halt mere inches from the gator-infested ditch. Thank God she didn’t have airbags or shed be sporting a broken nose right now. Talk about adding injury to insult. El wasn’t one of those people who fainted at the sight of blood but gators - she really wasn’t fond of gators. Ever since witnessing her treasured puppy disappearing into the jaws of death at the tender age of six, she hadn’t been a fan. With no dash lights to aid her search, she patted the seat for her cell phone. Nothing. It must have landed somewhere on the pitch-black floor. Score! She snatched the phone and tapped the screen. She tapped the screen harder. Zero bars. Evidently tapping the cell phone harder does not magically produce more signal bars. Great. Just great. As she assessed her situation, she noticed aggressive eyes moving toward her truck through the water. Either she got out right now and scrambled to the road, or she was going to be trapped in the truck with and no cell phone signal and no help in sight. She chose the road. Hands on hips in the middle of the road El scowled at her stalled truck. “Well hell Patricia, what did you go and do that for?” She grumbled at the truck she had owned since she first got her drivers license. As if in answer, a loud roll of thunder cracked. It was a heck of a long walk back to the ranch, and lightening was lighting up the sky like the fourth of July. She chewed her lip and considered her options. Who am I kidding? There are no options. Sighing in resignation, she started walking. Ten minutes later, a half-mile closer to home, and soaked from pouring rain she heard a truck engine. Headlights appeared, coming straight for her. “Yes!” El watched as an early model Ford king cab truck slowed to a stop. Slowly the window lowered and a man leaned toward her. “Hey darling, I’m Joe. Is that your truck back a ways? Do you need a ride?”
Posted on: Fri, 14 Nov 2014 22:15:06 +0000
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