After twelve hours on the road
home, they stopped at a dog
friendly motel. Walking his

dog, he encountered a retired
couple and their very, little,
yappy dog who reminded him of

all the yappy dogs at their
association. He said his choco-
late lab liked little dogs but

he would just go around. Walk-
ing his dog back he saw that
the man, still sitting in the

SUV, had parked over the white
line. Thinking that another
driver might want the next spot

and that the man would appreciate
the help, he suggested that the
man move the vehicle to the other

side of the line and left. He saw
them later entering their room and
gave a hearty hello to which the

old guy let fly a string of explet-
ives concluding that he was actual-
ly the exit place of the descending

colon and that he, the man, could
park any damn way he wished and
that the parking lot was empty

anyway, which it wasn’t by a long
shot, he thought but didn’t say.
Then the man challenged him to a

fight out in the parking lot.
Then, by the grace of God, the
man’s wife leaned into the hallway

and called, “Roger, get in here.”
As he walked past the man’s wife,
she said that Roger had a bad day.

He thought Roger may have fathered
the yippy, yippy, yappy, yappy some-
thing-a-little-less-than-a-real dog.

“And goodnight to you, too, Roger.
You might want to get off the
road a little sooner tomorrow,”

whispered the man as he headed
to the ice machine.