Slick with sweat, my hands squeezed the steering wheel as I raced helplessly toward the intersection. If I didn't apply the brakes within the next few seconds I would smash into the cars stopped in front of me. My right foot pounded the brake peddle repeatedly but it wouldn't go down. Fate was about to reward an act of kindness with blood and thunder. All right, a little overly dramatic, I know. Here's a more sedate version of the story.
I was driving on US 40 a few years back when I noticed something plodding across the road up ahead. It was a turtle, an Eastern Box Turtle to be precise. And it was about to become a bloody pancake. As an enthusiastic dilettante of herpetology, I had to try to prevent the impending tragedy. I pulled my car off the road and sprang into action. With the speed and agility of a jungle cat I raced to the hapless reptile. Clutching the animal tightly under my arm, I sprinted to safety. And let me tell you, Superman never moved as fast as I did on that fateful summer afternoon. After placing the lucky creature in the back seat of my beloved Camaro Z28, I drove on, planning to release it when I found an area unthreatened by automobiles.
About ten minutes later I came upon a group of cars stopped at an intersection and needed to decelerate quickly. I pushed hard on the brake but it wouldn't go down. A crash was imminent unless whatever was interfering with the brake peddle was removed. Kicking and prodding finally dislodged the impediment and the car jerked to a halt. On the floor I found the turtle I recently rescued. The ungrateful son-of-a-gun had crawled from the back of the car to the front and got stuck under the brake peddle. My act of bravery nearly resulted in disaster.
Would I do it again? Sure, but in the future I'll keep an old pillow case or a cardboard box in the car to preclude a similar occurrance.
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