The summer of 2000, newly arrived in Alaska, we purchased a Dodge Dakota 4-door. It would see us through the long winters. For seven years, I drove it through all the weather that Alaska could throw at me. Never once did I have an accident (except for sliding on black ice through an intersection . the other drivers politely waited as I glided through). I also avoided the most dreaded and the statistically high Moose vs. Vehicle accident. Moose meets vehicle equals a damaged moose and a totaled vehicle.

Now back to California, I teach an evening yoga class that is at the lower end of a long, narrow ag-valley where organic and non-organic farmers mingle with the massive Indian gaming casino. From the upper valley, the drive is about 25 minutes. On this long highway without streetlights, drivers cannot see quick enough to avoid the crossings of the wild or domestic animals, which means a lot of dead animals.

One night, after seeing a rabbit still twitching, I was totally distressed. And as I often do, I began one of my 'conversations'. "I can take a lot of things, I can survive if I have to, but please please please don't ever give me the burden of killing an animal, I would just give up, I swear!"

This is not drama. I have major depressive disorder, and I maintain my mental health through yoga, meditation, intense will power, and some personal beliefs that help keep me grounded. But I have limits, and I have triggers.

Fast forward.

One evening, my ever-reliable truck lurched, and the gas pedal became thick. I had visions of expensive repair bills while I shuffled towards home. Barely a mile later, an animal was on the road and I was able to easily stop, avoiding a terrible squish-job. Once the animal moved on, my truck suddenly was all gung-ho, and I sped merrily home.

Over the next month or so, this happened two more times. Very specific lurching, the inability to get the truck to gain any speed, and the prevention of two more animal deaths.

The forth time it wasn't an animal, but I recognized the feeling of what the truck was doing, so I just let it happen, seeking the animal that was going to leap out. But this time it wasn't an animal. It was a well hidden police car, trying to catch people zooming around a corner and down this hill.

The fifth time it wasn't just one animal, it was two. A rabbit and a kitty. A few miles apart.

It's been several months since it has happened, but neither have I had any close calls, so apparently it hasn't been necessary.

I seriously love my truck.

Anonymous
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