Karma, or Else Really Unbelievable Coincidence

One day last year I dropped The Boy at school and hit a dog on my way to work.

You know me -- it's never that simple.

I was in a 70 mph zone, and I saw the dog and began to brake.

I went left.

The dog went left.

I went right.

The dog went right.

Left.

And left.

I gave up and hit the dog straight on. My license plate sits in a black rubber frame and I hoped it would cushion the impact.

The dog flew into the ditch.

I ran off the shoulder and broke two engine mounts and a pipe that came out of the air conditioning unit.

I ran to the dog.

Its eyes were rolled back in its head, its spine was arched and its legs were futilely clawing at air.

I thought it was dying, and was horribly upset because I thought I was going to have to put it out of its misery.

It rolled over, sat up and blinked at me.

It was a beagle, which could explain a great deal.

I was on my way to Dallas, and I was late, so I grabbed the dog, tossed it in the car and took it to the animal shelter for observation for the day.

Later on, I went back to the area to try and find the owners, and ran into the County Game Warden.

Naturally, it was his wife's dog.

And . . .

She was a third grade teacher at The Boy's school.

I went to school and tried to leave a message for her (yes, I was trying to grab The Boy and run).

Obviously I was bad.

Very bad.

The principal sent me to her classroom, and I had to tell the story to her, The Boy, and her entire class. Trust me when I tell you that you will never yearn for the security blanket of PowerPoint more than when giving a speech to a classroom of 8-year-olds who would like to see you horsewhipped. Or forced to write sentences.

And it gets worse.

The beagle was a nursing mother with puppies at home, and the shelter would close before the teacher could get off work and rescue her.

I had to admit before a teacher, a principal, my son, and a room filled with angry 8-year-olds that I have the animal shelter on my speed dial.

And they agreed to stay late and wait for her to come and pick up her dog as soon as I told them it was me . . . I couldn't bring myself to admit it was because I handle community donations with my big-box employer, and we give them a great deal of pet supplies and help with their Christmas Toys for Tots and Cancer Walk programs.

Awful story, I know.

Jump to the present.

The Boy starts third grade August 27.

Guess who his teacher will be . . .