Transcript for the Piece Audio version of Cheryl-Anne Millsap: Thanks to the Dog.

The heavy gray November sky settled over me like a cold blanket as I drove home from the grocery store, the car full of food for Thursday’s Thanksgiving meal. At the light, mentally ticking chores and reminders off the list in my head. I glanced over at a car just ahead of me. The driver was a woman who looked like she had something serious on her mind. Her shoulders were pulled up, she was frowning and chewing on her bottom lip. She did not look happy.
There was a dog in the backseat, pressed against the door. And when the woman drove away, his head was hanging out the back right window, eyes half-closed, ears flapping in the wind and his mouth open. He was the picture of happiness.
Watching them speed away, I thought about the two creatures in the car; wondering where the woman was going. Was she on her way to pick up a child from school? It was about that time of day. Was she trying to think of something to make for dinner. Was she fuming over an argument with her husband. Was she listening to talk radio? Was she feeling the strain of preparing for Thanksgiving Day, for a house full of kids and relatives.
The dog’s ears danced in the wind as she drove.
I felt a tug of envy. I, like the other woman, with my fretting and fuming about all that needed to be done, had it all wrong. That dog had it all right.
When I was a child I used to love to stick my hand out the car window and let it ride the wind. The air would slip under my palm and lift my hand like a surfer on an ocean wave. Sometimes I would put my head out the window, too, just like a dog, and the rush of air would hit me and take my breath away. The wind would tangle my long curls and fill my ears with its roar.
It was a splendid way to pass the time.
We all start out like the family dog. Just along for the ride. But somewhere along the way, we turn into the harried human at the wheel. That’s only natural. Someone has to be in charge. That’s the point of evolution, after all. But, still, looking at the pair, I couldn’t help but think there was a lesson in the moment.
We’re all so concerned with how we get to wherever it is we’re going. The vehicle matters. The destination matters. The estimated time of arrival matters.
But a dog? He’s just happy to be where he is at the moment.
For most of my adult life, I’ve had my hands on the wheel. With lists on my mind and places to be and things to do. I’ve worked hard and tried to do what was expected of me. But I’m not sure that’s how I want to be remembered when I’m gone.
I think maybe I want to be remembered as someone who went though life like a big, friendly dog with her head out the window, sucking in air, tasting the world as it flew by, just happy to be on the road with the people I love.