Another Place Episode 27

Another Place Another Time

Book Two

Luke and Traveler

Episode Twenty-Seven

A year later, James Wilkerson, my CPA, told me that my gross income was down almost twenty percent. Though my business was profitable, it wasn’t as profitable as it has been when Daddy and I were running together. Then he suggested that I get a new partner, or at least hire a co-driver. I ignored him. A month or so after that, he suggested it again. That time I explained to him that I had a partner, whose name was on the door of the truck, and I didn’t need another one. I also told him I did not want anyone else in my truck. As an afterthought, I suggested to him that maybe what I needed was a new CPA. He and I have been friends long enough for him to know that was the end of the conversation.

………

The day after that conversation, I picked up a load of produce just south of Chattanooga. I was late loading and concerned that I wouldn’t make my unloading time slot in Cleveland. When I started up Mount Eagle, the toughest pull east of the Mississippi River, I was working hard to stay in the moment, as well as working hard to preserve speed on the sharp incline. I was down to thirty miles an hour and struggling to hold that, when I saw him, a big, black dog, gaunt as a shadow, moving painfully up the mountain; instantly, I was totally present.

The dog, a German Shepherd by the look of him, was oblivious to the traffic that was whizzing past only a few feet away from him. He was staring straight ahead as he moved relentlessly upward. I shook my head as I passed him. I love animals, especially dogs. It tears me up to see one abused, or worse, abandoned. However, after years of driving, I had seen many of them, and I knew I couldn’t help them all. I surprised myself when I pulled the rig off on the shoulder, less than a third of the way to the top of Mount Eagle. There couldn’t be a worse place to stop a loaded tractor-trailer, and I was doing it to help a dog. I felt like two different people, one going against all logic, trying to help a dog that looked to be beyond help, and the other watching in astonishment.

The part of me watching disappeared as I locked the rig down in a swirl of dust, jumped from the cab, and ran back toward the place where I had last seen him. When I got to the end of the trailer, I saw him coming toward me. He was still fifty feet away. I stopped and stared. He was so exhausted, he was weaving slightly, and I was afraid that he might stagger over into the passing traffic. His eyes, unfocused, stared blindly ahead.

I stood in his path not knowing what to expect. He walked into my legs without seeing me. The impact staggered him. I caught him as he was falling over. I picked him up easily, amazed at how light he was. He couldn’t have weighed much more than forty pounds. I guessed that in a healthy state he would easily go over seventy, maybe even eighty pounds. He closed his eyes, as I carried him back to the tractor, and I felt him go limp. His head swung loose over my arm, and I thought he was dead.

I laid him gently on the passenger seat. When I looked at the wasted body, I saw the ribs lift once, then again, as he breathed fitfully. I thought, Boy, as long as you want to live, I’m going to see that you have the opportunity.

I cranked the truck and managed to make the top of the mountain. At the Rocky Top Truck Stop on the summit of Mount Eagle, I stopped. Standing in a phone-booth, I leafed through the small telephone directory until I found what I was looking for; a veterinarian, specifically, Rocky Top Animal Hospital. I dialed the emergency after hours number.

A woman answered on the second ring. Halfway through my story she said, “Just a minute, sir.” I heard the sound of her covering the receiver and despite that I her shout… FRANK! It's for you.”

Thirty seconds later a deep voice said, “What can I do for you?”

I told the voice, which I assumed was Frank’s, who I was and why I was calling.

“Happens all the time around here,” he said. “I’ll never understand how people can put their dogs out and just leave them, but they do. Look, meet me at the clinic, and I’ll take a look at him.” He told me how to find his office and abruptly hung up.

Thirty minutes later, after silently examining the dog, Frank shook his head and said, “Luke, I don’t know what’s keeping this one alive. It looks like it has been a month since he has eaten. I’m going to be honest with you; the odds of him making it aren’t good, and even if he does, I’m not sure he’ll ever recover emotionally. He could be a healthy basket case, if you know what I mean.”

“Doc, I had a dog like that once,” I said. “He eventually became normal, or at least almost normal. I’m willing to see that this one has a chance. You do what it takes to bring him back physically, and if that works out, I’ll see what I can do about the other.”

Frank looked at me and smiled, “It's your money. If that’s how you want to spend it, it's fine with me.”

I looked at the wasted body lying on the stainless steel examining table. Every shallow breath was a major effort, and, after every one, I held my breath until I was sure there would be another one.

Finally, I said, “I’m sure. Don’t spare anything. I’ll be back through a week from today. Here’s two hundred dollars. Will that cover your charges until then?” Too choked up to say anything else, I dropped my head and examined my boots.

Frank pretended not to notice my discomfort as he stuffed the two one hundred dollar bills into his jeans, and said, “This will be more than enough.” Then he added, “Luke, I’ll do my best…but don’t get your hopes up.”

I thought about that dog nonstop for the next three days. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, even when I tried. Finally, late on the afternoon of the third day after I’d left him with Frank, I pulled into a rest area near Lansing, Michigan and ran for the bank of public telephones like a lovesick teenager. It took a few minutes for his assistant to find Frank. I shifted from one foot to another as I waited. I was afraid to know, but more afraid not to know. Finally, I heard, “Hello, Luke. Where are you?”

In what probably sounded like one word, I blurted out, “Hi, Doc. I’m in Michigan. How’s my dog? How’s he doing, Doc?”

The answer came quickly. “You can stop worrying, Luke. I’ve never seen anything like that dog’s recovery and I’ve been in this business for over thirty years. I stayed with him for about an hour after you left. I gave him liquids and glucose intravenously, and then I left him about like you last saw him, unconscious and attached to an IV.” He paused then said softly, “I expected to find him dead when I came in the next morning. Instead, as I opened the front door, I heard all hell breaking loose in the back. That dog of yours had pulled the IV out of his leg and was standing on the table barking as if it was the end of the world. Now he’s eating me out of house and home. You are going to need a lot of money to bail this guy out.” He laughed and hung up.

I don’t think my feet touched the ground as I walked back to the truck. I even laughed out loud a couple of times. That stopped some tourists in their tracks. They probably still tell stories about the drunken trucker they saw at a rest area in Michigan.

Even though he was totally out of it when I picked him up, I swear that dog recognized my voice as soon as I walked into the clinic and asked about him. I heard a sharp bark from the back of the clinic, and somehow I knew it was my dog. One of the aides brought him to the counter. It was difficult to tell who was walking whom, as the big dog strained against the leash. He came directly to me, and, before I could stop him, he rose on his hind legs, laid both front paws on my shoulders, looked in my eyes, and licked my mouth.

I laughed and wiped my sleeve across my face, pushing him down at the same time. I looked at him. It was hard to believe it was the same dog I’d brought in a little over a week before. He still had a lot of weight to regain, but he was well on the way. I guessed he was over well over fifty pounds, and I saw he was a lot bigger than I had originally thought. I’m a little over six feet two inches tall. Standing on his hind legs, he had looked right in my eyes.

“Now what am I going to do with a big hardheaded dog like you?” I asked him.

He looked at me and barked loud enough to rouse some of the other “patients” in the back. He started to repeat his face-licking move. I looked at him and said, “SIT!” and he immediately sat down.

Just then, Frank came out of one of the examining rooms. He looked at the dog and grinned, and then we shook hands. “We just discovered that he’s well trained. In fact, he is about the best trained dog I’ve ever seen.” The big dog stared at him while he talked. It seemed that he knew Frank was talking about him.

“You sure did a great job with him, Frank. If you’ll get my bill ready, I’ll get him out of your hair.”

Frank reached in his jeans pocket, pulled out two crumpled one hundred dollar bills and handed them to me. “There isn’t any charge, Luke. It’s been fun watching him get well. All I have invested is some time, a little medicine, and a ton of food. It was worth that and a whole lot more to me.”

I tried to refuse the money, but Frank had obviously made up his mind, and there was nothing I could do to change it. As the dog and I walked out of the door, Frank said, “There is one favor I would appreciate.”

“Name it and it’s yours,” I said.

Frank hesitated, and then asked, “Do you get through Rocky Top often?”

“Usually once a month, sometimes more,” I said. “Occasionally I haul six or seven weeks straight on the west coast, that’s the longest I’m ever away from home.”

Frank grinned like a ten-year-old, “Great, then you can bring him back for visits now and then.”

I laughed, “Frank, you’re a vet. You see a hundred dogs every day.”

“That’s right and I love them all, but this dog is one of a kind, and I would like to see him occasionally, just to remind me how special he is.”

“I’ll do better than that, Frank. How about being his vet? Whatever he needs, you take care of it?”

Before Frank could answer, the dog barked his approval.

We both laughed and Frank said, “Well, I guess that settles it.”

********

Daddy always said that I was a “riding fool,” usually adding, “Luke, you’d rather ride than eat.” He should have met the dog. I have never known a man, woman, child or animal who liked to ride any more than that dog. I guess I knew when I walked into Frank’s office, the dog was going to be my new partner; it just took a while for me to admit it. First, I had to put myself through all the arguments against having a big dog in a truck twenty-four hours a day. ‘He’ll jump out. He’ll bite somebody. He’ll tear up the truck. He may turn on you someday. If he isn’t housebroken, you will have big problem.’

I ran all of that and more through my mind for a few days. The dog quickly disproved every reason I came up with not to keep him. He obeyed every command instantly. He loved people. He had as much respect for the truck as I did, and he was every bit as housebroken as I am.

I realized early on the dog did something far more valuable than keep me company. He reminded me of the Old Man’s lessons about being in the moment, paying attention, getting in touch with my knowing, trusting it, and following it without hesitation. The dog was all of those lessons rolled up in a single 85-pound package, his full healthy weight. He was never out of the moment. Attention was what he was about. Even when I thought he was asleep, he was paying attention. He had a direct connection to knowing, and he trusted it, followed it, and never hesitated. The dog was both a teacher and an example.

I held off naming him until I knew he was going to make it as a trucker. After a week or so, he had put all of my doubts to rest, and we began the name search. We discussed it for hours. I would throw out a name and he would veto it with a bark or growl or simply by just ignoring me.

“Blackie.”

“Growl.”

“Prince.”

“Growl.”

“Big Boy.”

“Vicious bark.”

“Tiny.”

He rolled his eyes, sighed and went to sleep.

One afternoon, we were southbound out of Denver. He had his head out the passenger window, squinting into the sixty-mile-per-hour wind. I looked at him and it came to me, Traveler! I ran the name around in my mind for a minute and then I recalled that Traveler was Robert E. Lee’s horse. The General’s Traveler was a magnificent, legendary animal. Men who served with him swore that they could recognize the General at great distances because of Traveler. Unlike other horses, the big, gray gelding never turned his head from the direction in which he was traveling, no matter what was happening around him, be it noise, confusion, gunfire, or cannon roar. Traveler always looked and moved straight ahead, just like the dog the afternoon I found him going up Mount Eagle.

I turned toward the dog, and in a voice I knew he would barely hear above the wind I said, “Traveler…”

The response was instantaneous. He pulled his head back into the cab and turned toward me. I swear it looked like he was grinning, almost as if to say, “Well, it’s about time.”

He barked, wagged his tail, and licked my arm.

“Okay, Traveler it is.”

*********

I talk to Traveler about everything, and he understands every word. When I talk, he looks at me. Sometimes he cocks his head to one side. Sometimes he wags his tail. Sometimes he growls. No matter what he does, it’s always right for the conversation. Next to Daddy, Traveler is the best partner I could imagine.

**********

We covered many miles in our first months together. We worked and we played. We had ordinary runs and few not so ordinary ones. Then there was the run that was the ride of a lifetime, the one that changed everything.

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