10-4 Magazine October 2024

A Trucking Dog’s Blog: By K.M. Stanfield to sleep yet. On a personal note, I never mind being told to sit before being fed, to bark for a treat, and even being told to stay while he figures out his pre-trip planning. But I am absolutely sure I could not sleep when commanded to, this is simply impossible for a dog. Guess that’s something only a driver can do. I truly do my best when given a command, but even a dog knows when to comply and when not to. Like that rest stop squirrel, no matter how many times my driver yelled “stay” at me, it simply couldn’t be done. Sort of like the way he reacts when ‘Sleeper Berth’ shows up on the box – he obviously doesn’t obey that command instantly either. I admit, for the most part, my driver is better trained than me. His master in the box tells him what to do and when to do it. He must tell his master every time he eats, drives, or sits like a goldfish for half an hour. I think swearing must be necessary every time he touches the screen, but sometimes it occurs when he says his clock has not started yet. Sometimes he even threatens his master, saying he will rip out the box he lives in and throw it out the window (something I would never even think of doing to my driver). However, even when he’s going berserk, in regard to his master, he does almost everything it tells him to. With that said, I can’t imagine obeying a master like that. The only answer is my driver was trained better as a puppy than I was. There he goes again, jumping out of the truck and slamming the door. I’m sure he’s still upset about that flashing light towards the back of the trailer still being red. We like green, not red. Being color blind, it makes no difference to me, but my driver feels it warrants a certain level of frustration. This is very obvious (as he stands in front of the yard dog) by the number of times his arms have My driver looks upset. We’ve been sitting in this dock for an incredibly long time. I’m not so sure I can survive much longer without relieving myself inside the truck. I remember while we were backing in, my driver told me, “Sorry boy, but the sign says No Dogs Allowed on Property – Keep Pets in Truck.” I wish I could tell him, “Sorry driver, but my bladder doesn’t care about some dumb sign.” I’m going to start barking soon, which is out of my control when nature isn’t just calling, it’s screaming. Looking over at my driver, I know he’s probably upset at more than the sign about dogs. I’m thinking it might be because we drove all night just to be on time to this monstrous D.C. This receiver won’t take any deliveries more than an hour early, nor will they take us even one minute late. He is grumbling about the fact that we still have a red light and that we haven’t been hit yet. Don’t know if I like the word hit, but better the truck than me. He’s right though, as I have not heard anyone touch or felt our trailer rock at all. If it had, I would have warned my driver about the impending doom of being unloaded by barking my head off incessantly. It is the way of things in the trucking dog’s world. Problem is the only thing I can think of barking about is to warn my driver my bladder is about to explode. But he sits there, muscular arm hanging out the driver’s window, tapping his fingers with great intensity on the outside of the door. His brow furrows as he watches other dry vans dock and leave, grumbling about this and that. Besides the excitement when he yelled “steering wheel holder” at another driver that almost backed into our bumper while yanking on the air horn, not much has happened. For a distraction from said bladder, I play with my rubber ball, tossing it about the cab, while my driver looks at his phone for an eternity. When he does this and scrolls on and on, his attention span is like a mesmerized goldfish and nothing I do can bring him out of this fixation. He sort of looks like that big squirrel I caught and shook days ago at the truck stop in Oklahoma – sort of glassy eyed and stupid. However, while he is in this altered state, I am prepared to bark loud enough to decalcify his spine should anyone come near the truck, be it friend or foe. This brings him back to reality. Just like that squirrel knew enough to run up the tree when I dropped him, my driver knows enough to pay attention when my barking starts. Had I not had the intense desire to urinate on the fire extinguisher behind his seat, I’d just dig up the bed, throw the pillows on the floor, and call it a night. Sleep would seem the best recourse of action while stuck with that red-light blinking behind the trailer, but my driver cannot sleep. He has not been given the command to yet. Let me explain. I am fully aware that my driver tells me when to sit, lay down, and stay. Dogs accept this when they bond with a human. It’s just the way it is. However, my driver’s master lives in a glowing box on the dash, and it has not told him 56 10-4 Magazine / October 2024 DOCK DOOR DRAMA