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The ragged shoulder of the two-lane highway was narrow enough to make me uneasy, as if I didn’t have enough going in that department already. I hadn’t thought to ask Sharkey for a leash. (And where would he have been hiding said leash? asked Snarky Me, while suggesting a few locations that are never meant for storage.) Fortunately Meathead walked easily behind me, single file, matching his pace to mine.
A single pickup passed us, heading in the opposite direction, before I saw the sign for Sharkey’s driveway in the distance. You might think light traffic would relieve my anxiety (less chance of Meathead and I becoming roadkill), but that pernicious state was too well entrenched. Instead, I realized after the truck was gone that I should have flagged the person down and asked them to c
