SPIN OFF

If you are not prepared to believe what I am about to relate, go to a movie, to bed, read a book. No sense wasting your time and mine. My story is gospel as I experienced it yet it is beyond me, unexplainable to anyone with a modicum of good sense. Are you going to be with me?

Bob Turnell is the weatherman on Channel 6, Texarkana, TX. He’s o.k., nothing special, simply one like the others on all of our 5 weather channels whose fingers turn rain paths into connected white lines, who gives the temperatures for the day, the week, even the wind speed. I trust him the same as the other 3 guys and the one very pretty young lady.

As dawn became morning, the sky began to hazily turn blue. Bob announced it was going to be a glorious spring day, 78 degrees, soft breezes, dry and perfect for horse back riding, golf or a quiet, solitary walk. ‘Get off your duffs, Folks. Don’t waste this May 10. There won’t be another for 365 days.’

I had considered going shopping for a few bright, fun outfits for summer but Bob’s apparent belief in meteorologists changed my mind.Instead I put on a light weight blue outfit with the price tag still on the sleeve, got a bottle of Zephyrill out of the fridge and headed towards the Jackson Corral, about three miles away. That is an easy round trip, one I take at least once a week. I just love to watch the horses run semi-free for hours.

Are you still here? Good. This is where you may decide to reach for a best seller and let me wallow in my desire to get this out of my system. I am walking at a good steady pace, have seen no one with whom I can stop and chat, ask about family, where she/he is going. A beautiful Dalmation comes from nowhere and walks beside me. I’ve never seen this dog before, have no idea who owns it. He wears no collar, no license around his slender throat. All I know is it is a male who lets me smooth his head, looks me in the eye and then gets ahead of me, stops, waits for me to catch up. He starts to bark, runs out of sight, and returns with a gorgeous all white Afghan, its coat as soft as just woven silk. Without a body search, I figure it to be a she. I, between the two animals, know what I am, a sometimes foolish female. Many of the residents around here know me enough to smile, give me a friendly ‘hello.’ Today, several of them pull over to ask me about my companions. None has seen them before. Then it happens.

If you are this far, STAY.

A weird strong wind comes whirling down the road. The sky has become an azure blue. There is no sign or rain, yet a gray vortex twists right at me. I am scared, start to run but get nowhere. The dogs stand still as statues and I do the same. Noisy whirring almost bursts my ear drums. My feet no longer touch the ground. I hear barking but see no dogs. Yelling ‘Help’ is useless. Dizziness overcomes me. Do I give in, let this monstrous cone devour me, drop me in the Gulf or on a mountain top? I swear on all that is holy that I had no idea of what was happening or how long I was someplace besides Texarkana. The spinning slows down. The vortex vanishes. Around me is a group of Munchkins. Somehow I spurt out foolish questions, ‘This isn’t Kansas, is it? Have you seen two dogs, a white Afghan and a smooth, lovely Dalmation?’ Their strange twittering puzzles me. As a group they shake their heads ‘no’, walk into the distance and disappear.

My feet, of their own volition, begin to walk, endlessly walk, until I see the fence, the gate, to the Jackson Corral, see the running horses, their great day. There is more traffic so I stay on the sidewalk, am two blocks from home, when the two dogs run towards me, lick my hands, my face, and follow me into my house.
That’s the end of my story. You can ask my neighbors about the dogs. They’ll tell you they aren’t mine and they never saw them before. If you want to pet them, go ahead. They won’t bite.