THE DOG SAYS MOO

I needed to get off the highway for a while yesterday, I was feeling weary.  And my boss Riff had been extra testy, I think he must have put too much starch in his underwear.

I stopped at a local diner in Tennessee, because I'd always rather have homestyle dinners cooked than fast food assembly line pasteurized processed food product.  As I sat quietly and waited for my food, I heard the man in the booth across from me as he read to his son.  The young boy was looking with fascination at the pictures in the book.  The father said,  "Now what does the duck say?"

"Meow," said the boy.

"That's right, and what does the horse say?"

"Baa, baa."

"Very good.  And what does the dog say?"

The little boy stopped to consider before answering.  "Woof?"

"No buddy, the dog says Moo."

"Mooooooo," the boy drawled.

"Yes, that's it."  The father looked up and saw I was looking their way.  I quickly averted my gaze, I certainly didn't want to get sucked into this conversation, even though I so often do on the road.  Weird people are drawn to me.  "Hey, you got kids?"

I pretended not to notice.  But he was staring at me.  "Hmm?  Who, me?  Nope, no kids."

"That's a shame.  Kids love to read."

"Keep going, Daddy,' urged his son.

"OK, OK.  What does the pig say?"

"Quack, quack!"

"You got it!"

"No he does not!"  A very large woman in the booth behind the man and boy turned around.  "I can't keep quiet no longer.  I can't stand hearing you mislead this boy."

"This boy is my son."

"That makes it worse.  Why are you teaching him all the wrong stuff?"

"Who is to say what I'm teaching is wrong?"

The woman seemed flustered.  "Well... I just... I mean it...  A dog don't say moo."

"Maybe in your world."

"Maybe in every world in the universe.  Mister, you are crazy."

"Listen lady, I just want to teach my son to defy expectations.  Why can't a dog say moo?  Because you say so?"

"No, because that's just how it is."

"Well I can't subscribe to your narrow minded way of thinking."  He spun and pointed at me.  "What do you think."

I held my hands up.  "I have no opinion."

"Come on man, don't be afraid to take a stand."

"I'm just having a snack, no problem."

"I'd like to know what you think."

The large woman nodded.  "Actually so would I.  You are the deciding vote."

The waitress walked up with my food and I said,  "Could I get this to go?"

The father got very determined.  "Here in Tennessee, we welcome a lively debate.  So I would like to hear your thoughts on child rearing and home schooling."

The big woman slapped her hand on her forehead.  "Oh Lord, you're one of those home schoolers."

"Excuse me, I have to run to the restroom." 

I got up and hurried off, as the father yelled,  "Don't be too long, we have a lot to discuss.  Hope everything comes out OK."

I stayed in the bathroom for a few minutes, then snuck up to the register to pay for my food and get going.  Old McDonald may have had a farm, but I didn't feel like any animal talk or lively debating.

ORLANDO TRAGEDY

I was driving a car to Orlando on Sunday when I heard the news that chilled me to the bone.  20 killed in Orlando at a nightclub shooting.  And as I listened to more reports come in, the death toll shot up to 50 and 52 more were wounded.  What in the world could have caused such a horrible thing to occur?

When I arrived in Orlando, there was a somber tone everywhere I went.  It seemed as if every conversation I heard in public was all about the shooting.  I felt somehow connected to the community and was feeling their pain.  But I also saw long lines of people waiting to give their blood, and others coming to provide water, snacks and Gatorade to those in the hot sun.  I was deeply moved and very impressed by the sense of humanity, of helping others.

On Monday morning when I delivered the car, I had to call an Uber to get me to the Amtrak station so I could get to my next pick up in the Miami area.  The Uber driver's name was Manuel, and from the moment I got into his Chrysler I could sense his grief spilling out by the bucket full.

"Can you believe it?" he asked me with a thick accent.

"No I can't," I said.

"Do you know what I'm talking about?"

"The shooting?"

"It wasn't a shooting, it was a massacre!  50 people were killed, and one of them was a good friend of my cousin.  Why?  Tell me why?"

"I don't know, it makes no sense."

"Hate, too much hate in the world."

"Yes," I said quietly.

"My son was gay, he told me he was gay but I was too proud to accept it.  I rejected him.  Can you believe that?"

I shook my head.  "Have you spoken to him since?"

"No, but I wish I could.  I want to tell him I was wrong.  I want him to know that I love him, that I accept him no matter what.  I want him to know that God made him special, and he is my son, and I will love him always no matter what."

I paused for a moment.  "You should tell him that."

Manuel began to cry a little, trying very hard to hold back the tears.  "I can't do that.  He died one year ago, a hate crime took his life.  This massacre has brought that back home to me, and I hope that today every gay man and woman knows that their parents love them very much and accept them.  Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Clearly."

"I'm not an Obama fan, but when he spoke about this he sounded very Presidential.  Like he was mad and he wanted answers."

I nodded.  "I think everyone wants answers."

"Why did this maniac's Muslim beliefs lead him to violence?  Why did he want to kill gay men?  Why did he want to kill Latinos?  Can you please explain that to me?"

"I can't."

"Who can, though?  I need an explanation."  He turned and looked directly at me in the backseat, and I could see his eyes were wet and very red.  My heart went out to this man, but I wasn't sure exactly what to say.

"Do you believe in God, Manuel?"

"Yes of course."

"I think at times like this we really have to lean on our faith and pray hard for answers and peace of mind."

"This is really testing my faith.  I lost my son, do you get that?"

"Yes."

"And he died thinking that I didn't love him enough to respect his decision.  Understand me?"

"Yes."

"Why is there so much hate in the world?"

"I wish I knew.  But I have a plan, I try to do something nice for someone every single day.  Even if it's a total stranger, just one act of random kindness.  I believe if every person in the world could do this, inch by inch this could become a better place."

Manuel was quiet for a moment, then looked at me in the rear view mirror.  "50 people died."

"I know."

"My son is dead.  How many other parents are grieving the loss of their child today also?"  He pulled up in front of the Amtrak station.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out $5 to give him as a tip.  "God bless you, Manuel."

He waved away my offer of cash.  "Thank you, but I would rather you save your money and give me another kind of tip.  Can you please pray for all of the people who were shot and killed, and for all their families?"

I patted him on the shoulder.  "I already have been, and will continue to."  I climbed out of the car, but the memory of his words stay with me.  Too much hate in the world.  Hatred towards others because of their ethnicity or sexual identity.  That's all plenty bad enough, but senseless killing and bloodshed?  Why?  I am praying for a better world where we can love each other and support each person's right to live their life the way they choose.  I love gays, blacks, hispanics, Asians, the entire rainbow of diversity.  Because God made us all and I believe He wants us all to love and take care of each other.

ASLEEP AT THE WHEEL

After delivering a car on the outer outskirts of Salt Lake City, I was relieved when my boss Riff told me I was being picked up and taken to my next car.  He said that a big rig truckers wife named Barb was coming to get me and she'd take me 50 miles so I could get a car headed to Florida.

It wasn't long at all before the rain started coming down hard, and an El Camino pulled up and I saw Barb inside.  She was a very plump senior citizen with flaming red hair.  She rolled the window down a crack as I tried to open the door and found it to be locked.  "Bill?" she asked.

"Hi Barb."

"Bill Thomas?"

"Yes ma'am.  Can you unlock the door please?"

"Oh sure, I just wanted to make sure you're Bill.  You are Bill, aren't you?"

"Yes I am."

She unlocked the door.  "Well climb on in, what are you waiting for, its raining?  I want you to know that I'm glad to do this for you, so glad, so extremely glad, it's nothing but a pleasure for me."  I couldn't believe she said all that in one breath.  She hit the gas hard, and I fastened my seatbelt quickly.  "I see you're a seatbelt man, I admire a seatbelt man, I admire any man, well any man who drives cars all over the USA, and if he wears a seatbelt I admire him even more, if you know what I mean."  So I could see that rapid fire talk without taking a breath was her natural speech pattern.

"Do you have the address where you're taking me?"

"Of course I know where we're going, well not really, but I do have the address, its on the whole 'nuther side of Salt Lake, a place I don't go too often, in fact never in my life, but we are going there today, now aren't we?" Barb stopped talking abruptly, just as her eyes shut and her head plopped forward, chin on chest.  Loud snoring sounds came from her, and I was scared to death.  All I could think to do was poke her in the ribs.

Barb came quickly to life and screamed bloody murder, slamming on the brakes of the car with great force.  I was thrown forward, thank goodness for the seatbelt!  "Are you OK, I'm OK, but the question is are you OK, because if anything happened to you I'd die, I swear I'd just die, it would kill me if I scared a passenger, especially one I admire like you."  She stomped on the gas again.

"What happened, Barb?"

"I don't know, I really don't know, I mean my husband Charlie says sometimes I just nod off, but I hope that's not what happened, but I bet it could be, cuz I'm not a betting woman, used to be but no more, and so Charlie, that's my husband Charlie, he likes to bet every chance he gets, morning, noon and--"  Her head slumped, eyes closed, snoring soundly.  I gave her a good poke again, and she screamed at the top of her lungs while slamming on the brakes.  The car behind us nearly rear ended Barb.  "Oh no, did I nod off again, please tell me I didn't, I would be so humiliated, oh please tell me I didn't fall asleep."  She put her foot down on the gas and proceeded.

"Maybe you need some more rest, Barb."

Barb howled with laughter.  "That's rich, oh that's a good one, more rest, like I could get more rest in my house, with my husband Charlie's schedule and my grandkids running in and out, and all the baking I do, I spend half the life in the kitchen, and I'm a darn good cook if you don't mind me saying so, but why would you, I'm only stating the hard cold facts."  She paused uncharacteristically and looked me over.  "So are you a married man?  I don't see a ring on your--"  She passed out again, just as we were getting onto the interstate highway.  I felt a genuine sense of panic.

"Barb!  Barb!  Please wake up!"  She began to swerve across lanes in front of fast moving cars, so I had no choice but to grab the wheel and try to steer us through it.  I poked her again, and she came to life screaming and fighting me for the wheel.  Anticipating her slamming on the brakes, I had steered us onto the shoulder lane.

"Why are your hands on the wheel honey, that's not safe.  There's only one driver in this car."

"I'm sorry Barb, but you were sleeping and swerving."

"Oh no, not again.  This is beginning to get embarrassing, if you know what I mean, but I'm sure you do.  You were just telling me about your wife."  Barb accelerated and steered back onto the highway.

"No, I'm not married."

"You're not married?  Oh listen to me, prying into your business and going places I have no business going, just being a nosey Rosey, but that's just me, I can't help it.  Do you have a girlfriend, or maybe are you a Gay, which is fine with me, though it's none of my business if you don't want to tell me, because the Bible says its a sin to lay with another man, but I don't judge.  What do you--"

Off she went again, just like flipping a light switch.  Instead of getting upset, this time I chose to firmly take the wheel and try to navigate through traffic while Barb slept.  I was doing pretty good, but soon realized she controlled the pedals even as she snoozed, so I got off at an exit ramp and poked her.  She sat upright and screamed loudly, hitting the brakes.

"Why are your hands on the wheel again?" she demanded.

"We are here" I announced.

"What?  How can we be?  This doesn't match the address I have."

"My boss Riff called and changed the address.  This is it, that Auto Parts shop right across the road."

"Well isn't that just like Riff, that old rascal.  He's a scallywag, don't you agree?"

"He's all that and so much more," I said, climbing out of the car.  "Thanks Barb."

I went to the Auto Parts shop and paid the driver to take me the rest of the way once he had a delivery headed in that direction.  For the rest of the day, I kept wondering about Barb and how she lives through a single day driving in traffic.

THE LOWER 48

I arrived in Spokane, Washington yesterday to pick up a car going to Alaska.  I was very excited, because I had never before been there. My company rarely ever has cars to deliver to Alaska.  My old high school buddy Steve and I have talked about going there together for years, the ultimate road trip.  And yet it has never happened.

I have been to all of the "lower 48" states many times in my travels.  More often than you might think, people ask me if I have ever taken a car to Alaska or Hawaii.  It seems to me that the only way to drive a car to Hawaii is if it can skip across the ocean the way Herbie the Love Bug skipped across a lake like a rock bouncing and skimming on the surface of the water.

My cell phone rang as I got off the city bus at the pickup location.  "This is Bill."

"Hello cupcake."  It was my not-so-charming boss Riff.  "Hello my little marshmallow."

"Hey Riff, I just arrived at the location in Spokane."

"Well good, my little precious."  His voice was thick with sarcasm.  "Now its gonna be very cold in Alaska.  Did you pack your long johns and your footie pajamas?"

"I'll be fine, Riff."

His tone suddenly changed.  "Do I detect an attitude?"

"No Riff, no attitude."

"I think you've been getting a little too big for your britches lately, and I--"  Riff kept on talking but I stopped listening, because a car came flying into the parking lot I was standing in and starting doing donuts at a dangerous speed.  I hung up the phone and hurried towards a brick wall where I could stand safely.  Unless of course this wild driver decided to smash into said wall.

The car came right towards me and stopped just short of slamming into me and the wall.  Then Andy jumped out, and I felt both relief and regret to see him.  He's another driver for my company, and every interaction I'd had with him has been somewhere between bad and worse.  I once saved his life by pulling him out of a car after he flipped it.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Billy Elliot," he said to me.

"Bill Thomas," I politely corrected him.

"What did you just call me?" he said with menace in his voice.

"Not you, me, I'm Bill Thomas."

"I know that, you think I don't know that?  Good golly, you are a piece of work."

"What are you doing here, Andy?"

"I might ask you the same question."

"Riff sent me to pick up a car going to Alaska."

"Oh, you mean this car, the one I'm driving right now?"

I looked at the Chevy Equinox he was driving and realized that it was the same car I was there to get.  "I'm a little confused."

"Oh, poor baby, he's confused and doesn't know what to do.  Does baby want his bottle?"

"What?  No!  I want to know why you are in my car."

"Wrong, it's my car.  Riff assigned it to me, and I'm headed out to Alaska.  So I guess we can agree that you are screwed royally."

I shook my head.  "This doesn't make any sense."

"Let me help you figure it out.  Riff told you to come get the car so he could teach you a lesson about respect and humility.  And he sent me to get the car so it could be driven up to Juno by a professional driver.  Also, it gives me the opportunity to rub your nose in your failure."

"What failure?"

"Failure to launch!"

"I paid to get myself here to Spokane.  And now I'm going to have to pay to get out of here."

"Boo hoo.  I am so glad that this is causing you a lot of trouble, I finally get my revenge."

"Revenge?  Revenge for what, Andy?"

"For pulling me out of that car when I flipped it."

"It was the right thing to do, but I'm not sure why you want revenge."

"Because if it was my time to die, then I should have kicked the bucket right then and there.  You deprived me of the opportunity."

"To die?"

"You got it.  I could be partying my ass off in Hell right now if it weren't for you.  Bye bye, loser."  Andy burned rubber as he sped out of the parking lot onto the street, nearly hitting two cars and causing them to swerve out of his way.

I was going to call Riff, but thought that would only upset me more.  So I called my friend Steve in Kentucky.  He answered on the first ring.  "Hey Bill, so good to hear from you."

"Hey buddy."

"Uh-oh, what's the matter?  I know that tone in your voice, and its not a happy one."

"You still want to take that road trip to Alaska?"

"Yep, and as soon as I retire we are going to do it.  I'm just glad it will be the first time for both of us, I've been afraid that you'd get a car to deliver there."

I smiled.  "Nope, not much chance of that."

CLOWN AT THE WAFFLE HOUSE

For as many years as I've been out driving on the road, it's almost amazing that I never ate at a Waffle House.  Guess I have gotten into the habit of using drive thru because I can roll through then keep right on going and eat as I drive.  But last week as I passed through Mississippi, I decided to pull over and have an early breakfast there.

It wasn't too crowded when I walked inside.  I sat at the counter, and was looking at the menu when a clown in full costume came and sat down next to me.  "Hungry?" he asked me.
,
"Yes sir.  Breakfast is my favorite meal."

"Really?  That's very odd.  By the way, I'm Bobo the clown."  I noticed that he seemed somewhat morose, not at all cheerful and clown-like.  "Ever had breakfast for dinner?  Now that is a truly kinky experience."

"Yes, I like breakfast anytime."

"Have you decided what you're going to get yet?"

"No, I'm still studying the menu.  This is my first time at the Waffle House."

Bobo was stunned.  "No way.  How is it possible that anyone in America has not eaten at the Waffle House?"

"It's true."

"I find that hard to believe."  Bobo lit up and started smoking, and I recognized the aroma of marijuana.

"Uh, I don't think it's cool to smoke in here, Bobo."

"Don't worry, it's not a cigarette.  That's what they don't want you to smoke in a restaurant is cigarettes, not weed."  He inhaled deeply.  "Now do you like yours smothered, covered or chunky?"

I had just been looking at the hashbrowns on the menu, and noticed the variations that Bobo had mentioned.  "I was just trying to decide.  I've never seen so many different ways to fix hashbrowns."

Bobo seemed surprised.  "Hashbrowns?  I was talking about women."

This confused me, but I let it pass.  Bobo began to cry.  "Are you OK, Bobo?"

"No I am not OK."  He took a long puff off his joint.  "Not OK at all.  I know what you're thinking, the life of a clown, all fun and games, happy go lucky. Bullshit!  Haven't you ever heard about the tears of a clown?  When no ones around?"

I wasn't sure what to say to this.  No doubt about it, this had to be the saddest clown I had ever encountered.  "Anything I can do to help?"

He got very irate and pointed a finger at me.  "Oh, now you want to help me.  Now you decide its time to reach out to poor Bobo."

"I just wanted to--"

"I know what you just wanted, and it's too little too late.  Where's your compassion, where's your heart?  Is all you can think about stuffing your face with waffles?  Which, by the way, are very delicious here."  Bobo began to sob and ran off, heading straight into the Ladies restroom.  A waitress came over and took my order.  I wondered what in the world was wrong with Bobo the clown, and if he had gone into the wrong restroom by accident. 

By the time my breakfast arrived, I had observed that Bobo was causing quite a stir.  One woman needed to go to the restroom but couldn't, and then the Waffle House manager noticed smoke coming out from under the door.  The police showed up soon after, and they only gave knocking a try once before they forced the door open.  As they dragged a sobbing Bobo out, I noticed he was sucking on a straight glass pipe which I believe is used for crack.  The clown began to kick and scream, but the cops had no problem forcing him into submission.  In a bizarre way, I felt like I was getting dinner and a show.  Well, breakfast and a show.

As you are driving down the highway, stop in and check out a Waffle House.  They are abundant and seem to be everywhere you go, and they make fantastic waffles and hashbrowns.  But if you see a clown headed your way, you might want to take a detour.

GUNS AND GREYHOUND

Today I was at the Greyhound station in Richmond, Virginia.  As I've mentioned many times, I dislike riding Greyhound intensely due to many bad experiences in the past.  But I had dropped a car in Richmond, and the bus was the quickest, cheapest, most convenient way to get to Washington, D.C.  I figured I could tolerate a two hour ride.

As I sat in the station, I saw the usual suspects, all manner of odd folks who looked right at home in the bus station.  There was one woman who talked extremely loudly on the phone, broadcasting her personal life to everyone there.  And there was one gentleman having a very animated conversation with the wall.

Most of the passengers seem to use Hefty trash bags as luggage.  Very chic.  And the majority of them do not know the meaning of the word soap.  I have no idea why this is, but I can say unequivocally that it's true.

I tried hard to read the latest JACK REACHER novel, because I find them endlessly fascinating.  Yet I kept on getting interrupted by people coming up to me and asking for money.  Some wanted cash to get a soda, some needed their potato chip fix.  There are times that I feel generous, but this was not one of those days.  I had not been paid in full for the last three car deliveries, and was trying hard to conserve funds.  Which is exactly why I was riding Greyhound.

Some state troopers came into the station.  I was worried that there might be trouble, so after a few minutes I walked over and asked them what was up.  They said they were there for a training exercise and there was nothing to worry about.  I went back and sat down, then watched a man enter the station and walk up to the officers to engage in conversation.  Then he pulled out a gun and the shooting began, and I hit the floor and prayed.  Several people including a cop were shot and badly wounded, and the man who started it all was killed.

Now I have another good reason not to ride Greyhound.  Maybe I should start carrying a gun myself.

AMTRAK ANARCHY

After delivering a car in Charlotte NC, I went to the the train station to catch Amtrak to Miami.  It would be a 24 hour ride, and I'd much rather fly, but the plane fares were prohibitively expensive so the choo-choo express was my only option.  Other than Greyhound, which would take twice as long as the train for the same amount of money.  And I don't do Greyhound anymore.

When I got my train ticket at the counter, I was told that we'd be heading north to Raleigh on one train, then get off and get on another train headed south.  After the announcement was made to board, I went out to the platform and climbed onto the train.  I chose an aisle seat, and then pulled down the tray table in front of the empty window seat so I could quickly arrange my things before we got rolling.

Once we were moving, the conductor came down the aisle asking for tickets.  He was a short, stocky man with a slight limp, and when he got to me he said  "Sir, you need to move your things out of that seat so that someone else can sit there."

"I'm just arranging my stuff on the tray table, I'm almost done."

"You will move your things right now, you are preventing someone else from having a seat."

I looked around the train car I was sitting in, and it was only 1/4 full.  "I will remove it immediately if someone wants to sit here."

He suddenly jutted his head towards me rapidly, so that our noses were almost touching.  He seethed as he spoke to me menacingly.  "Tell you what, you will move your things immediately this very moment or the police will be waiting for you at the next station to drag your sorry ass off of this train."

I shrugged.  "OK, but why so hostile?"

"Because I don't like thieves.  You are committing a crime, it's called loss of revenue.  You are taking two seats and therefore preventing Amtrak from selling that other seat.  Are we clear?"

I nodded sheepishly.  He seemed a lot angrier than was necessary, as if I was a repeat offender troublemaker.  I quickly moved all of my things off of the tray table.  I made a few phone calls, and then got my writing tablet and began working on my new book.

After a while, the conductor came by again and said to me,  "Don't think you are out of hot water yet.  I've got my eye on you."  He really left a bad taste in my mouth, I had never received such treatment on Amtrak.

When we got to Raleigh, I noted that there were already a lot of people waiting at the train station.  They were getting on my second train, only Raleigh was their point of origin.  I saw two men on opposite sides of the station both with seeing eye dogs.  I assumed they were blind, as they each had a white cane in addition to the dogs.

I sat next to one of the blind men, and he introduced himself as Tim.  The dog was a beautiful black lab called Dudley, and he reminded me so much of Paulie, the dog I rescued in Texas when I first met my friends Tom and Jenny.  Tim told me that he had never traveled by train, and he was a bit nervous about it.  I offered to help him out in any way that I could.  When the station manager called for all passengers to go out to the loading platform across the street, Tim did not budge.  He said he had been told to stay put and someone would come and get him.  "Would you mind very much staying with me?"

"No not at all, it would be my pleasure."  We talked and he told me what it was like to be blind, and how he could sense things about people that sighted people often miss.  And he said that he loved to read.  "You read?  How do..."

"Audio books.  The U.S. Library of Congress has a great program, and send me books to read.  Well, technically to listen to."

Time ticked by, and I began to get concerned.  "Maybe we should head out to the platform, I'd be happy to help you."

"Thanks, that's very kind of you.  But I was told to wait here and that's what I should do."

"No problem, but it's been a while and I want to go out and check to be sure they don't leave us behind."

He seemed disturbed by this idea, and nodded at me.  "Maybe you should go check, that is very nice of you."

I went outside and crossed the street, and saw that nearly everyone had boarded the train.  The station manager saw me and said,  "Where have you been, you nearly missed the train."

"I'm here.  I was just keeping Tim and his dog company in the station."

"They have already been boarded, and it's time for you to get on as well."

"No ma'am, they are still in the station."

"Sir, you missed something somehow, because I personally got the blind man and his dog onto the train."

She turned and walked off, and the conductor asked for my ticket.  I tried again with him, saying "There is a blind man and his service animal in the station waiting to be escorted onto the train."

He held up a hand to calm me, and said, "I heard what you were telling the manager, and I can assure you that the man and his dog are already on the train."

"Yes, the man with the white dog.  This man is Tim, he has a black dog."

He seemed amused.  "You telling me there are two blind men and two dogs?  Climb on board sir, we have everything under control.  Please get a seat, we will be pulling out in less than one minute."

I took a step onto the train and then turned back.  "Listen to me, I am begging you to have someone check inside the station before the train leaves, just to be sure."

"We are sure."

"Please?"

"All aboard!" yelled the conductor.

I got on and found a seat in the front row right next to the exit door and restroom.  We sat still for a few minutes, and then I saw the station manager bringing Tim and Dudley on board.  They sat right across the aisle from me.  "Where is my friend Bill?" asked Tim.

"I'm right here, buddy," I replied.

"Dudley and I owe you a debt of thanks.  I heard that the train almost left me, but you insisted that they check on me.  I am deeply grateful."

I reached over and patted Dudley on the head, and he licked me.  I settled back in my seat hoping to get some sleep on the long ride ahead.