Risky roads
As we shift our spirit into “travel mode”, I notice things. Risky things, mainly. Like, right now, there are flood situations all over the place, blocking any attempt to get somewhere without either a boat or wet feet. This shall pass. Next up on the set list: fires. Grass fires, forest fires, anything that lays down heavy smoke and the chance of a quick roasting leaves me cold. I don’t really want to go if harm is the price.
Of course, I’m being told that it’s all in my imagination. Probably true. Doesn’t erase that niggling voice in my animal brain dealing with fight or flight. If I stay here, the worry level drops appreciatively. I worsened the tally by checking on (imaginary) train fares. Being told that one of the more scenic routes requires booking a night in a hotel, in one of the most crime-ridden cities in the land… well, the fare schedule doesn’t mention my dog, and until it does, the whole idea is imaginary.
What about the risks at home. There aren’t many, unless I’m not at home. Then, fire, flooding, crime all become part of my nightmare. Picture a fiery, wet thief. I have. And the dog is comfortable here. He has his sleep spots all picked out. If we get on the road, he’ll be a nervous wreck. Not a pretty picture, my dog in full panic. And the moose. I can’t forget the moose, after having a pop-up video explaining what to do if a moose (not a mouse) runs in front of us. I can’t steer, or accelerate, or brake suddenly. All I can do is watch as my life unrolls before me.
