Cynophobia: The fear of dogs
I used to drive all over the American Southwest. The gorgeous mesas and harsh beauty of a cactus were what I woke up for. I loved getting to know small towns along the highways. The people were always so welcoming and polite when I made my runs. I loved driving from Texas to California in my 18-wheeler. At least I did until I found that fucking dog.
I found a dog near Bradford, AZ. That was the last time I ever felt at ease. I will never go near anything that looks like a dog again. That day, I had been driving from Amarillo, TX and was about an hour outside of Flagstaff. I was driving bobtail on my way to Los Angeles to pick up a new trailer. I was half excited to be in Los Angeles for my day off. I usually like the solitary life and hated driving with a trailer around those narrow streets, but if I was passing through it was fun. Swimming in the ocean and good food was worth the hassle. The last rouge light of the sun was slipping down into the flat scrubland before me. The inky black night sky was rushing in quickly with deep royal purple and dark grey clouds under each arm. The night was bringing a storm in, so I wanted to get settled in quickly.
The beautiful thing about the desert is that sometimes it will rain mud. Driving through muddied rain at night has been my least favorite weather to drive in. Second to driving during high winds while going through a mountain range. As I approached Bradford I was scanning along the side of the road. For miles, all that could be seen was uninterrupted flat earth. No dip or rise in the land, just flat dirt. Scrub brush dotted along the road with acacia bushes wrapping their thorny vines around them. Trying to choke them out for their sun and water. I adjust myself in the seat and lean over the wheel. The repetitive pattern of the land had started to hypnotize me into the setting sun. I was not really focusing when I saw him sitting.
I started to slow down and readjust my eyes. From the darkening shoulder, I saw a large dog sitting on the side of the road. He was at least five feet sitting on the ground. I first thought I was looking at a desert wolf, but the face and coat did not match. He had a large black narrow face with rounded standing ears. As I came to a stop more of his speckled coat came into focus. He was gold, orange, black, and white. The spots swirled and caped around his back. His forelegs were in black socks that lead to a golden chest and throat. The dog was panting heavily and staring beyond my truck. He seemed dazed as I studied him. Like the hot sun had cooked him all day. As I studied him, the dog turned his focus on me and looked me dead in the eyes. I would never stop for a person, but animals were different to me then. He seemed so out of place in this landscape. He needed some help before it was too late.
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