...Travis...

The sound of rubber tires 

on asphalt is fairly distinctive. 

You don’t pay much attention to it 

   when you’re in a vehicle 

but when outside, standing there 

at the edge of the road, with those 

four wheels hurtling towards you, 

you note such a sound all too well. 

 

And yet, it’s a subconscious thing. 

You don’t so much note it in your mind 

and yet everything you’re doing 

at just such an inane moment 

is there overridden by 

your primal conscious,

and it’s telling you, 

“Do not cross the road.” 

It’s a fear yet not a fear. 

More like a programmed 

self-preservation quality that’s 

nigh impossible to overcome.

 

How about a different sound? 

The sound of a whimpering dog. 

 

As a kid I once heard 

this particular sound 

coming from a patch of 

high grass near our home. 

Wading out into and 

parting the dull green tassels, 

I looked down to find a small 

black and white mongrel pup 

   cowering there. 

So alone and hungry. 

 

My father raised pedigree hunting dogs 

and I knew he would not abide this 

dumped dog being in their midst, 

so for two whole days I hid this pup 

in an old shack on our property. 

 

On the third day, I found the dog 

sitting on our front porch 

next to my father, and with 

a frown that turned to a smile, 

my dad quietly said, “So 

I guess you found yourself a dog.” 

 

And that dog… 

That dog which oddly 

came to be named ‘Travis’…

He wasn’t the family dog. 

He wasn’t my sisters’ dog to share with me. 

Travis      was my dog. 

This boy’s dog. 

 

You know how some dog’s can smile? 

Well, Travis could smile and 

yea, that made me smile. 

 

When summer ended 

and my sisters and I 

headed back to school, 

Travis would follow us 

down to the road, 

and there wait with us 

until the bus took us away. 

Day after day he’d do this 

and yes, he’d be there 

waiting for us

when we got home. 

 

One morning Travis was 

late to join us there at the road 

and in our boredom 

we crossed over the asphalt to 

watch for the bus on 

the higher ground beyond. 

 

Up at the house 

we could see Travis looking for us, 

so we yelled for him to join us, 

and down the driveway he came, full tilt, 

ecstatic at the recognition of our voices; 

knowing he was late for the morning ritual. 

 

And all the time he’s coming, 

you figure he’s smiling. 

And all the time he’s coming 

you hear the sound. 

This sound that means something. 

The sound of tires on asphalt. 

 

And you turn and see a pickup truck 

barreling along at high speed. 

And you know that two things will 

meet there on the asphalt before you. 

 

And you wave at the driver 

but he can’t see you. 

And you find yourself yelling for this dog to stop. 

     Please stop. 

And yet what does Travis hear but 

the joyous voices of those he cherishes, 

and he continues his headlong dash to 

a young boy’s certain embrace. 

 

And there on asphalt you watch him die. 

 

Not because he was stupid.   

No. It was because that 

subconscious alert 

to tires on asphalt 

was overridden by 

something we call 

love. 

 

What he did… 

 

It wasn’t stupid. 

It wasn’t 

stupid 

at all.

 

 ©05 Jack David Hubbell