A Trucking Dog’s Blog: By K.M. Stanfield Missouri. Normally he respects D.O.T and their plethora of stupid rules, but he’s explained to me that our nation is about to be 250 years old (which is 35.72 years for a dog) and how he WILL be celebrating this milestone in style! As to where he plans on transporting a firework or two in or on the truck, he has not shared it with me. He says I might blab it to a trooper or D.O.T officer should he be late with my dinner or some such nonsense. He neglects to realize I know exactly where he hides everything because of my superior nose, but I am no traitor and understand the reasons to celebrate, especially this year! He’s actually wanting to stay at the infamous Missouri Joplin 44 Truck Stop, which he is hoping will have some sort of celebration, but if not, he will find a way to enjoy by buying yet more chrome and setting off a roman candle or two of his own. He’s a patriotic old school guy, and when you think about it, I also support blowing up any product that is labeled Black Cat for obvious reasons. Actually, the 4th of July always brings good memories in addition to blowing up things named after cats. The first time my driver took me over the road years ago was just before July 4th. I was born in March of that year and was ready to “hit the road” and he was thrilled at my becoming a team driver (sans actually driving). When we left our home in his beloved Kenworth W900, I was a 12-week-old puppy, ready to go OTR, with fireworks hidden in the cab, much like they are now. At that time, my innocence didn’t know of the oligarchy of the D.O.T and the potential evisceration of a professional driver they could cause for such an infraction, so it was a thrilling time for me to finally set off with my driver. With explosive and illegal purchases made, we coast along I-44 and pull into I’m not sure how many more times my driver can shout our truck’s number into that speaker outside his window. Now, I never mind anything with the word CAT on it getting orally abused, but it can be redundant. The garbled and high-pitched response sounds like a CB squelch that can implode an eardrum. Being we were just loaded with crane part odds and ends and no scale was available at the shipper, we needed to go to the nearest scale to see if we must drive back to said shipper so my driver can cuss at the forklift driver about their incompetence or how they lied about the weight of a boom or frame. He can get riled about a potential overweight ticket (because we all know the forklift driver certainly won’t be paying it). To practice for this possible “better not happen to us” return trip’s lecture, he increases his volume yet again, trying to get the faded voice to simply repeat back our truck’s number. He’s aware he can weigh our truck using an app on his phone, and although said phone provides unlimited entertainment for him while waiting to get unloaded at a receiver, he is old school and I believe it gives him pleasure shouting our truck’s number through a window at a silhouette of a cat, which of course shouting at any cat gives me great pleasure, as well. Normally crane parts are not my driver’s favorite things to haul, they can be difficult to secure, depending on the part. He much prefers counterweights for those big, yellow CAT dozers, as they commonly give him oversize or overweight income which is always welcome. This, of course, is one of the rare times I delight in the word CAT. It benefits me too, as extra income means more home time for barbecues, sleeping, and potentially a new squeaky toy. Speaking of barbecues, picnics and the delightful smell of steak, one of the best smells my driver takes pleasure in is the wafting of black powder smoke that can proliferate truck stop parking lots during our nation’s birthday every July 4th. Because of this, my driver is in a bigger rush than normal as we are heading to one of his favorite places this time of year – the home of over 1,500 firework stores – the state of Missouri. As to that destination, to tell you the truth, my nose can usually pick up the massive shift of surrounding states, to the bold scent of firework warehouses as we approach Missouri. It starts about fifty miles before the actual border and permeates my nose the entire time we are in the state. Most states actually have a distinct smell to them. The bayous of Louisiana, corn of Iowa, and hillbillies of Kentucky... well, what the hillbillies “still” make in the hollers, to be exact. The good mood of my driver is catching on as he enthusiastically talks to me about hiding his precious fireworks in the cab that he plans to obtain while in 50 10-4 Magazine / July 2026 PATRIOTIC PUP
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