Call of Duty

It was just another April duty morning. I was wearing my raincoat, but it wasn’t raining. the traffic was flowing well and the parents didn’t really need me to direct traffic yet. I was able to smile at the middle schoolers and their parents as they drove past me. I even waved to a dog.

The car with the dog pulled ahead to an acceptable point and, in almost clown car fashion,  three rather tall boys got out. Must be 8th graders, I thought as I watched one of the boys go to the trunk where, once tit was popped, he pulled out a poster board, Yup, 8th graders, I thought as I congratulated myself for my Sherlockian perceptiveness. Eight grade Family History Night was almost here.

Mom had barely pulled the car out when she realized the trunk was still open. She quickly jumped out, leaving the door open. That’s when the real drama began.

Somehow, Mom missed the fact that the little dog, a tricolor Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, had jumped out behind her. I called, but she didn’t hear me. So I ran. The dog was in the traffic lane. Fortunately, the scared little dog ran up onto the sidewalk, Mom still oblivious. By the time I arrived, she was back in the car, sans dog, who cowered beside a small tree.

Although I spoke to the dog gently it was clearly sacred. And although I moved slowly to save it skittered away under mom’s car. I yelled and caught her eye just as I heard her release the parking brake. I was able to grabbed the dog gently and pick it up to show Mom, who was horrified to realize she’d not only lost her dog, but almost run it over. She got out of the car once more and ran around to take the trembling dog into her arms. They got into the car together and drove off. And I went back to directing traffic.