My mama and I almost met our Maker recently, and, because she’s still seething, I get to write about it.
(I don’t have the Irish temper mama has!)
Here’s what happened:
We were coming home from a nice walk and trying to cross a wide street into our subdivision. I’d already done my business and greeted some of my favorite friends, so I was panting pretty good, though mama hadn’t even broken a sweat.
Anyway, a truck was coming from our right; everything to the left was clear. There was a car stopped perpendicular to us in our neighborhood, waiting to turn onto the wide street.
It didn’t take long for the truck to pass. After it did, mama led me out into the wide street.
(If there had been a motorcycle, I’d have tried to herd it; otherwise, I just kind of mosey along with my mama, figuring she can watch out for traffic).
Suddenly, the waiting car decided it was going, too.
And instead of turning wide to let mama and me pass, that idiot driver cut tight to the left.
Watch it, mama!
We almost got mowed down, right there in the middle of the street.
The only reason we were saved is because we ran! That was kind of fun actually — Mama doesn’t usually run with me because it seems to set off my barker.
Well, mama was furious. She started hollering at that lady driver and called her all sorts of bad-sounding names (I didn’t know my mama said stuff like that!).
And the lady driver? Well, she was yakking on her phone and mouthed an apology, but mama wasn’t buying it. And she grumbled most of the way home, too.
Don’t cross an Irish woman trying to protect her babies (and yes, I’m her baby!)