My dad’s truck is having a rough week. He sent me a text late yesterday afternoon. It was intriguing. It began, “Need a favor.” Another message followed, stating, “We R up north. Can you look up a # for a tow truck?”
I didn’t get the messages immediately. Since an hour or so had passed since the messages were sent, I gave him a call as soon as I read them to see if everything was okay. ‘Cuz you know, sometimes when a tow truck is needed there might be major bodily injury or something like that.
To me relief, he picked up and I asked him if everything was okay. Sure, he said, he and ma went up to their cabin for the weekend and decided to take a drive around to look for deer and turkeys. Yes, that is one of the primary entertainment options in that neck of the woods.
As he described it, they were going about 30 mph down a gravel logging road when and all of the sudden, they’d buried the front end of the truck. I could hear my mom in the background saying, “Tell him we can’t see the front wheels!”
All right. So you guys are sitting in the middle of nowhere on a deserted logging road with half of your truck in a sinkhole…correct? Affirmative.
My dad has a Blackberry, so I asked why he didn’t just look up a number himself. It seems that they forgot it at their cabin, but luckily my mom had her dumb phone in her pocket. I’m not crazy about my folks going wandering in the wilderness in general, much less without giving primary consideration to proper communication devices.
I’m just putting that on the record. I let him know that I’d do some research and get back to him.
A few minutes later, I called back with a couple of numbers, but told him to call himself since I had no idea where the heck he was specifically located from, y’know, a few hundred miles away. But please call me if you need anything else. Good luck. God speed.
About 15 minutes later, the phone rang. This time it was my mom. Dad decided that since they were stuck anyway and would have to wait for a tow, he was going to do some turkey hunting so the whole experience wasn’t a total loss. He just left you alone?!
Sure, she said, that was fine with her because she ‘sure as hell’ didn’t want to hunt. As if the choice of, um, my dad staying put with her wasn’t an option or anything.
My parents are quite a couple, if you haven’t figured that out.
She told me that their truck is really messed up now, especially since the dog was on the roof the prior night. What? Come again? It sounded like you said that your dog was on the roof of your truck last night.
The story I got from that query was that they had let their dog out overnight to do what dogs do after they drink water. A few seconds after letting her outside, they heard growling, barking, and general chaos. There was a black bear behind their cabin.
Their trusty watchdog, a 115 lb. black lab, turned tail and leapt to the hood – then the roof - of their truck, which was where the aforementioned canine was standing at the time they got to the door to check things out.
As I hinted earlier, my parents are quite a couple. In one sense, my dad had the foresight to hit the panic button on his key fob, sending the headlights into a strobe and the horn a honkin’. That scared the bear away.
He lacked, however, the foresight to realize that the dog would freak out and make a mad scramble to get off the roof of their truck. I’m guessing that panic is the perfect adjective to describe all the living creatures involved in this event.
And it is a known fact that a panicked dog is does 99% of its movement solely on its toenails. Cartoons don’t lie about that.
From the account I heard, there are some fairly serious and widespread scratches in the old paint job. The dog was physically unscathed, but only time will tell if there will be any residual emotional trauma.
I got a text late last night that they made out of the wilderness safe and sound, albeit with some additional body damage around the front bumper and fenders. Oh, and it included a note that no turkeys were spotted. Good times.
While I realize that this isn’t a typical Amery post (as if such a definition exists), how the heck could I not tell this story? This should help dispel any questions regarding how I got to be the way I am. Crazy stuff runs in the family.
If I’m their son and find this story insane, I’m very curious to hear how the claims adjuster reacts to the 2 worst days of that truck’s life. Oh man, would I love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation.
By the way, I’m joining my pop up at their cabin next weekend to do a little turkey hunting, myself. I sense endless possibilities…that weekend alone could result in a year’s worth of posts.
Wish me luck.
