I’m in my little beach town, up the road a bit from Carmel. At the end of each month, the block of thrift stores in the Barnyard Shopping Center near Carmel Valley put their merchandise at 50% off for a day or two. Yellow Brick Road was on its second day of sale yesterday, so I went to Joining Hands right at 10:00 when they opened.
There was a line. The woman in front of me was holding a tan dog, which looked to be about ten pounds. My low back hurt just looking at her. Holding it.
“Who’s this?” I asked.
The woman was happy to talk while we waited. “This is H.D.,” she said. “Highway Dog.”
“Okay, tell me the story,” I said.
“We were in Orange County, then drove home up Highway 5. We stopped at a gas station and she was sitting out front. I asked the gas station attendant if she wanted the dog to come inside, but she said it wasn’t her dog. We asked if anyone was feeding it, and she said she didn’t know. We asked if the dog had any water, and she said she didn’t know. She didn’t care one bit about the abandoned dog. She said a trucker had left it behind the night before when the dog wouldn’t get in his truck fast enough.”
“How horrible!”
“We offered to take her to a No-Kill shelter near our home in San Francisco, and she said there was a No-Kill shelter in Bakersfield. Well, we weren’t going to Bakersfield, so we took the dog in our car for the five-hour ride home.”
“Uh-huh.”
“When we got home, we asked the neighbors if they wanted a dog. The little girl in the family asked what her name was. My husband said, “This is Highway Dog.”
“You could’ve named her I- 5,” I said.
The woman didn’t get it. I’m from Iowa where we call the highways interstates, and abbreviate with the letter I. I-80, I-35, you get the idea.
“Anyway, that was nine years ago and we still have her. She’s a Min Pin.”
“Could I take her picture?” I asked.
“Why? Are you going to put her on Facebook?”
The door to the thrift store suddenly opened and the line streamed into the shop. I knew the picture idea wasn’t going to happen for this blog post, so I said, “Happy shopping!” and followed her inside.
As the twenty or so of us frantically milled about for the best deals, I found a Mexican woven rug in a bright burgundy, two Nancy Ann storybook dolls, a coffee mug, and a bunch of other stuff that was priced too high, even at half off. There was a lovely framed print of poppies ($100) and a wooden horse from an old ride ($125). Then I noticed a beautiful African basket with handles on the floor with no price tag. It had some knick-knacks in it. I wondered how much it cost and was ready to pick it up when a woman turned around and gave me a dirty look.
“Is this your basket?” I asked.
“Yes!” she said.
“I was ready to take it up front to ask how much it cost!”
The woman grunted at me. “Sure you were.”
I think she thought I was going to steal it. Honestly, who sets down their personal belongings at a half price sale with two dozen frenzied shoppers?
What a rookie.
FIRST DATE, WORST DATE EVER! 