yet another weigh station on our way to explode things in celebration of this wonderful nation. While waiting in the slow-moving line, that stretched to the entrance of the scales, I think about that innocent July 4th night so long ago. It’s not my finest memory, as my driver used my youth and innocence to humiliate me by making me wear a star spangled bow tie and cape. Not only did he carry my fluffy puppy body around the truck stop in that ridiculous red, white and blue outfit to be petted and laughed at, but I lost years of my life that evening when the loud booming started and the sky exploded. Even though my driver attempted to protect my ears by keeping the truck tightly sealed to reduce noise (which as a grown dog no longer bothers me), but the sheer cacophony of explosions at that time had me hiding, wide eyed in the bunk, under his dirty underwear to feel safe. This is hard to forget, even though I share that this is a great time of year to be patriotic, I definitely could have done without that shameful cape and bow tie back then. My driver is getting a bit frustrated, being we are less than a hundred miles from the festivities, and the trooper in the cool hat just signaled us to park in the diagonal parking spaces on the right. We pull in with an obvious sign of frustration 10-4 Magazine / July 2026 51 seeping out of my driver’s pores. I’m thinking this angst comes from the huge “Black Cat Neon Diablo Collection” box hidden in our cab behind the false panel in the closet. He keeps his calm demeanor, though, since we have never been inspected on the way to a 4th of July soiree. My driver has experience with long-winded troopers and, both wearing fake smiles, they chit chat back and forth. He then pours out of the cab to continue their lighthearted chatter about triangles and fire extinguishers when they suddenly begin to laugh loudly about something. Looking out of the open driver’s window, I see my driver has pulled out a package from the side box. He shows the uniformed man a brightly colored, red, white and blue, small stuffed hat with an elastic strap, then exclaims, “Thought I’d have my dog wear this patriotic top hat to celebrate the 250th in style, just like we did when he was a puppy, and we began over the road!” They both laugh in unison, much to my horror. Hearing this makes me want to hide beneath his dirty underwear yet again after all these years. Not from noise, but the absolute shame of wearing this Chinese made abomination of a hat. I am a trucking dog and the only hat I am voluntarily wearing is a hard hat with humorous and obscene stickers on it! If I were to wear this stupid hat at a truck stop, it has the potential to lower my social status in the trucking dog world to beneath the brain challenged huskies wehaveencountered. Ontheflipside, should my driver try to put that hat on me tonight, now that I am over a hundred pounds and strong minded, the potential for removing one of his butt cheeks with my teeth is in the equation, too. Whilst my driver is standing by the rear of our trailer checking a tire’s tread with a quarter, the trooper man climbs up on the driver’s steps and, through the already open driver’s door, looks around the cab (I’m not in a “bite the intruder” mood as I sit here brooding about the shame my driver is intending to lay on me with that costume hat). Trooper man gazes at me with a friendly but impish smile and can’t stop laughing as he says, “Hey there buddy, you wouldn’t know of any contraband hidden in here, would you?” TheofficerisshockedwhenIget off my seat and go to the closet where I proceed to whine and scratch at the hidden compartment door. Maybe not the most loyal trucking dog thing I’ve ever done, but perhaps with an Out-of-Service violation, now I won’t be seen wearing that stupid hat in Joplin, Missouri, tonight. n
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