Part 3

...She’s staring at me as I tell Petey everything’s going to be okay for the fiftieth time, hoping that maybe I will acknowledge her presence and tell her what a good dog she is. But instead I am secretly wishing I wasn’t such a sucker for homeless animals. But I am, and probably always will be.
For some odd reason, the trucks horsepower decides to kick in and ol’ Clifford decides to speed up. Of course my foot has been pressed hard against the accelerator the whole time and I had only witnessed a pitiful outcome of 35 mph. But now going 75 mph, I again realize why I had fallen in love with my truck. And I quickly chastised myself for having doubted that love.
I had had a perfectly good truck – a completely paid off 1997 F-250 Power stroke diesel – a great truck. But it just wasn’t me. Every time I drove it, I felt like one of those rich girls who looked like a spoiled brat whose father had bought her a nice truck. And I decided I needed a change. So Justin, my longtime boyfriend at the time, and I decided to go look for something new. But we ran into a few difficulties. The first one was that we needed something that got good gas mileage, since we lived 35 miles from Billings, Montana, and that’s where we both worked. So we were leaning towards a car. But in my heart, I knew I needed a truck. And we had a horse trailer that a car obviously couldn’t pull. Sometimes I took Harley, my 1 ½ year old quarter horse places, like the vet’s. So in reality we needed a truck in addition to the car. Besides Justin, like any other typical red blooded American male wanted something fast. I personally have never been into fast cars, mostly just big trucks, so the minute I laid eyes on Clifford I knew it was all over.
She was in the midst of a sea of newer models of Fords, Chevy’s and Dodges, so she stuck out like a sore thumb. A very big red sore thumb. Something very few people would appreciate completely, but I was no fool! It was love at first site. When I looked closer I was even more delighted. She was an extended cab 1978 F-250 with a long bed, a 351 Cleveland engine, an almost perfect original inside – minus the tape player – with a Dana60 front end. In my eyes, it was absolute perfection, except one minor detail; I had no clue how to drive a standard. Especially one that only had 4 gears!
So we talked out the details with the pushy salesman and we did a 3 for 1 swap. We ended up with a 1994 Toyota Celica for Justin and his speed demon ways, a 1998 Dodge Neon for me because of the awesome gas mileage, and of course, the love of my life, Clifford. But then she didn’t have that name. The name only came to me today, as I was walking up to her, completely loaded down with all my stuff, with the white horse trailer sitting gracefully behind her. And I thought “She’s big and red, kind of like Clifford the big red dog.” So Clifford the big, red truck fit perfectly. Trouble is, everyone thinks Clifford the dog is a boy, but I swear, when I was younger, I remember reading a Clifford book where they thought Clifford was a boy, until “he” had puppies. I swear. But either way, she was christened Clifford.
Look, there’s a sign for Deerlodge, Montana. This area seems to always make me angry. Don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful – just like the whole state of Montana. Big sky country as it is affectionately called by many. But every time I come through this particular town, I think about my first speeding ticket.
It was December 31 of last year, 1999. Justin and I were driving to Oregon to visit my family. But I decided to drive first. Well, Montana didn’t have a speed limit at that time, except at night. I was driving the 1997 Ford, and it drove extremely smooth for such a big truck. So I didn’t really notice I was going 75 mph in the 65 mph zone. Of course, it was lightly snowing, but in Montana you can’t really let a little snow hold you back, otherwise you wouldn’t really get anywhere. Besides everyone else seemed to be going just as fast. But I was singled out by this wonderful cop who I swear was just filling his yearly quota before midnight, being as it was December 31, and all.
“Do you know how fast you were going?”
“No, officer, I have no clue, maybe 70?” I tried to look as sweet and innocent as I could, but it didn’t seem to be working right for me this night.
“About 78 in this 65. That’s a $50.00 ticket. Why are you in such a hurry, young lady?” This cop was maybe 22 and he was calling me young lady?!
“No reason, just going to visit the family. Trying to get somewhere.”
I was hoping to just get a warning. Justin seemed to always get warnings. He’d been pulled over, in the 2 years I had known him, about 10-15 times for various reasons, but mostly speeding. But he only had 2 tickets, and he had yet to get one in the speed limitless state of Montana. They just gave him warnings every time. When in all reality, Justin, who loves to drive fast, might have learned a lesson or two if only they had written him a ticket a time or two.
Little ol’ me, who considers 80 mph the highest speed I can go –ever – should at least get one warning.
“I’m going to cut you a break, it being New Years Eve and all”
Here it comes, the warning.
“I’m going to write down that you were going 75 mph, so your fine will only be $25.00.”
Whoa! Where’s the warning?! I guess luck just wasn’t with me this particular day, along with the whole cute and innocent thing. Does this cop not realize that although he has done me a “favor” by making it only $25, my insurance will go up by God knows how much, and I’ll be paying for the “only $25” ticket for about 3 more years?! But I guess it was a perfect way to end the New Year; you would think. But it only got better.
So Justin decides he should drive. Not a ½ hour later the red and blue lights are behind us, again.
“Sir, license and registration, please.”
Ha, ha, I think to myself, he’s going to get a ticket, too! Kind of like a little kid getting her brother or sister in trouble, just because she already got in trouble. But I was completely oblivious to the fact that Justin getting a ticket – in essence – was the same as me getting one, as we were both on the same insurance.
“Well, son. This time I’m going to give you a warning. It’s New Years, after all. This snow is getting heavier, drive carefully. And have a safe New Years.”
Warning?! Where did that come from? He was going 85 mph and it was snowing pretty heavily. And Justin in no way looks sweet and innocent. He looks more like an underfed skin head. I was only truly upset for about 5 min. Then I came to the conclusion that the cop must have been gay. I mean, he did smile an awful lot in Justin’s direction. I was attracted to Justin, why wouldn’t a gay cop be. Justin did have an undeniable ruggedness to him that not just anybody could resist. Oh well, I’ve learned you win some, and you lose some. Damn’t though, it’s really nice to win all of them.
Oh no! That sign just said, “Last gas for 50 miles.”....

Part 2

And it continues...

....As she closes the door, I look at Kody and see her worried chocolate brown eyes, trusting me. How could I let her down? How did she get the 10 miles away? My theory seemed completely irrational but it made sense to me: my neighbor Mrs. Cannon had called me several times, telling me that if she caught my dogs eating her cat food one more time she was going to call animal control. And I took her seriously, since she had called the police before on me when I had gone to Oregon to visit for a week. I had left my animals in the care of my friend Doug. He worked evening shifts, so he usually came in the middle of the night to feed the animals. But Mrs. Cannon concluded that the animals were being starved and called the police. Of course, it was cleared up, but I still came to the conclusion that she was an extremely nosy neighbor. So back to my theory: so I think she decided to take it into her own hands and lured Kody into her car with treats. Then I believe she took Kody out to the Bull Mountains and dropped her off. But little did she know that Kody would find her way home. But she happened to get hit by a car or something. Of course there are holes in my theory- like why would she leave Kody’s collar with my phone number on it, on her. And why would anybody in their right mind do anything like that? But it’s the only theory I could come up with. I can’t wait until Mrs. Cannon sells her property, I will throw a party.
“So have you come to a decision?”
“Yes, I think Kody has convinced me that she really wants only 3 legs. All her friends have 4 and she thinks it would be really fun to be the odd one out.”
“I think you’re making the right decision.” She said through a muffled laugh. Dr. Shannon was a pretty 40-ish woman who you could tell loved her work, but didn’t enjoy the giving of bad news. “In the long run, it will be better.”
What if my parents had had the option of having my leg amputated after the accident? I mean, my leg was broken pretty badly, and they didn’t really know the outcome or have the money. Why should this be any different? I really hope I am making the right decision.
“You guys take installment payments, right?” I ask half joking. But to my surprise they did. Just my luck.
So Kody went through the surgery and recuperated at the vet’s. I went and visited her every day, even though I was taking up extra hours to pay for the surgery. Her back leg healed, since it had only been sprained and she did wonderful despite the absence of her front leg. She was walking in a matter of days, and running a mile every day with me in a matter of weeks.
At first, she did plenty of nose dives, and at the operation site, the wound opened up a couple times from her hitting it on the ground. But all in all she took everything very gracefully, or as gracefully as a 3-legged dog can. And I thank God every day for her companionship....

A little bit of a story....

This is a story... partly true, partly make believe; but mostly just from my heart... it will continue at random, just look at the tags for memoirs if you want to read more at a later time...

What am I doing? I have no clue how to drive this truck! One lousy lesson on driving a stick around the block and I’m supposed to be a master. What in the world was I thinking when I thought up this wonderful idea to drive across the country, by myself, in an extremely old ford truck. I mean, it sounded like a good idea to join the Navy and take all my stuff to my parents’ house three states away- then. But now? Going 35 miles an hour on interstate 90? Now it’s all seeming like one more giant mistake of Jacquelyn Cora Oleson, or Jacy for short- what a surprise. I’m actually used to mistakes and I don’t really tend to think of them as mistakes anymore, but merely life lessons. They make me who I am. Needless to say, I suppose people would call me complicated or someone hard to really describe or figure out.


“Its okay, Petey. Just please shut up!” I grit through my teeth at my cat, Petey, who along with my three-legged dog, Kody, is accompanying me on my half way across the country road trip. But Petey isn’t cooperating. He really isn’t fond of traveling in a ’78 F-250 with no muffler. The loud noise is permeating into the cab due to the hot weather and the lack of conventional air conditioning. Kody is lying next to me with her head on my lap. I don’t know what I would do without her. She’s been with me through just about everything, and yet, she’s still as loyal as ever. I still remember the day she wasn’t at home when I came back from work, I had just known something was wrong. We had gone running earlier, then I had gone to work. Sure she wandered an awful lot, it was in her breed. Malamutes and huskies are both known for exploring their surrounding territories. But usually she knew when I was going to be home and she was always there. So when she didn’t come out with her tail wagging, I was worried. This went on for a good two weeks, with me asking the neighbors and putting up signs. But nobody seemed to have seen her. Then I get a phone call. An older lady leaves a message saying she thought she had my dog and if it was, she was pretty bad off. So of course, I call back and find out that this lady lives just about 10 miles north of me! 10 miles of Montana mountains and highway. I think to myself that there is no way Kody would ever go that far- she never had before. When I arrive to pick her up, she sees me pull the Bronco into the driveway and tries and tries to get up. Eerily it reminds me of when my mom would tell me about the day of my accident. How I kept trying to get up and run to her, but I couldn’t. Finally, Kody manages to get up and she hobbles/ hops on two legs over to me. On two legs! It was unbelievable, her determination. I knew she was in pretty bad shape. But now what was I going to do? Here I am, a 19 year old, living by myself in eastern Montana. A house payment, car payment, insurance, and countless small bills that seem to add up to a small fortune, which is way more than I can handle. And now I am imagining a monstrous vet bill, and I was completely right.
“Well, we basically have 2 options, Jacy. We can either go in and put pins in the 3 broken spots in her front leg, or we can go ahead and amputate.” Dr. Shannon, Kody’s vet, gently explains to me. I have been in this office a countless number of times, what with all the random pets I accumulate from working in a pet store.
But this time is different. Kody has been with me since the 8th grade. She has run millions of miles with me, keeping me company and in good shape. She came with me to Montana. She was with me when Justin left, and… she was just always there. And now I had to make the decision that would affect her life forever.
“My recommendation is the amputation. She is getting on in her years, and the arthritis doesn’t help. The pins might aggravate it and she could have a hard time walking. She is in great shape, especially for being 12 years old. And she should recover from the amputation fairly quickly. But I know this is a big decision.”
So of course, I ask the question on my mind, although it’s completely irrelevant given the emotional bond I share with this dog, “How much is it going to cost?”
“Well, the amputation is actually less. It will probably run around $600.00 after everything. That includes the observation days and shots, medication, and the actual surgery itself. Keeping the leg, now that could run upwards of $1000.00. I don’t know the exact because there could be more complications.” She wouldn’t look too weird with three legs. Maybe I could change her name to Tripod, or something of equally snappy nature. Just kidding.
“Let me think about it for a minute.”
“Take your time.”