Small Things

Early last week, someone stole the catalytic converter off of my truck, which was parked in the office lot.

For those of you who don't know, the catalytic converter is the part of a vehicle's exhaust system that converts polluting gases into less harmful emissions. It sits between the engine and the muffler. And it also, apparently, contains platinum -- the magnet drawing thieves to cut them from vehicles that sit a little higher off the ground and are easy to get under with a Sawzall or similar cutting tool. You know, like an SUV.

Catalytic converters are also expensive to replace. While a thief might get somewhere around $100 per part on the black market, those of us who have to buy the parts legitimately pay around $500-$600 for them. Not to mention installation, which doubles the cost -- or more, depending on how the part is attached to the vehicle (bolted on or welded).

Expense -- and inconvenience -- aside, I also suffer from embarrassment every time my truck roars to life in the morning on my way to work or in the grocery parking lot. The noise and vibration are maddening on trips longer than a few miles and make listening to NPR (or, for that matter, music of any kind) virtually impossible.

But I'm whining. And that's not the point.

Karma and the ride home

I have a Golden Retriever, Sachi. Like all Goldens, Sachi's a happy, energetic dog, and I love her for those reasons. One of the things I love best is watching her run. She's beautiful -- her long, silky hair rippling, her lean body low to the ground... I take her off-leash as often as possible so I can watch her flow around trees, leap over rocks, and stop just long enough to sniff something wonderful with her eyes narrowed to slits and her tail a still, bright flag as she deciphers the scent.

Dog-parks are great, but they're crowded and loud. So, occasionally, against the rules, I take her out to a local trail and let her and her sister, Coyote, run off-leash.

In an admittedly lame attempt at courtesy, I try to do this when it's unlikely there will be many other people on the trail. Generally, it's after dark (also against the rules) or when it's raining or extremely cold outside. On this particular day, there was a 6-inch layer of snow on the ground, and it was about 20 below zero -- a rarity for the part of Indiana in which I live -- and perfect for off-leash running.

The two dogs were having a great time, but I was starting to have a bit of a drop in my blood sugar, so I called them over to put their leashes back on so we could go home. I bent to snap the leash onto Sachi's collar when she plunked herself down on the ground and dug at her paw with her teeth. When she stood up, blood gushed from the paw. She'd apparently removed something from it -- a piece of glass from a beer bottle; a shard of ice from a puddle she'd broken through. Who knows. But the snow under her paw was quickly stained red.