I’m surprised beyond words to hear my story come out of the mouth of a stranger. Then I get it. “Yes, this is Rockin’ Roadie.” My story has been traveling from CB to CB all around the state.

“What’d you do with her dog?” The older trucker drops a meaty hand on Artie’s shoulder, clenches his fist, and Artie winces like the victim of a Vulcan pinch.

“Get off me; I’ll have you arrested for assault.” Artie squirms, but the big guy doesn’t let go.

“Where’s the dog?”

It seems like such a simple question. But Artie is clearly unwilling or incapable of answering it. If I wasn’t so angry, I could almost feel sorry for him as the guy continues to trap him between his fingers. When tears actually come to Artie’s eyes, I call him off. “Enough, please. It’s okay. Let him go.”

The older man drops his hand reluctantly, clearly not pleased to be stopped. He has the look of a dad whose daughter’s boyfriend has broken her heart. A man bent on exacting payment.

Artie grabs his shoulder and rubs it. “Look, I don’t know where he ended up, but I left him near Exit Eight—eastbound.”

“Oh my God, you left him on the side of the MassPike?” The ice unblocks from my veins and the heat of despair causes me to break out in a sweat. How would my dog survive that? A loose animal on that major highway is doomed. Driving here today, I have seen the carcasses littering the shoulder—raccoons, a fox, lost pets. I can’t breathe.

“You shit for brains. Why’d you do something like that?” The younger guy raises his fists but doesn’t step any closer to Artie.

Artie fixes his eyes on me, all indignant. “Your goon threatened me. If the dog wasn’t with me, they couldn’t prove anything.”

“They who?”

“You know.” Artie drops his voice to a whisper. “The Hell’s Angels.”

“If you’d answered your phone even once when I was trying to reach you, he wouldn’t have had to threaten you.” Clearly Mitch’s voice-mail message had an effect.

“I didn’t know I had the dog. Honest. When I finally saw him, we were already into Massachusetts. What was I going to do? Turn around? I had a delivery.” Artie slaps his cap back on his head. He looks at the other two truckers for understanding, for sympathy, or empathy, or whichever one it is that will make him feel like he didn’t do a stupid, cruel thing. He gets nothing.