Arts Rescue Mission -Aid For Aging Artists
P u b l i s h e d W e e k l y, N e w s, A r t s, & S t o r i e s F r o m T e x a s .... U s u a l l y
Vol. 2 No. 12, 08-31-2026
It’s 105 in SA, Cats, Skunks, Truckers, and Maybe Lopey's Lucky Ride
Zen and the Art of Car Camping Series
D. M. Allison, Mission News Orbiter, Dictated August 24, 3 – 5 a.m. / Written August 27, 2026 (word count 1,731)
I have two friends who told me not to come to San Antonio and then stay in my MDX "Car Camping."
"It's reaching 105° here every day." Both women have cats. "The cats just can't take it when it's that hot outside, and you can’t either."
When it reaches these high temperatures on a daily basis for weeks at a time sometimes the house rules don't apply and people have mercy on their pets and let them indoors. Neither of these ladies had such a thought for me however.
"My cat, that NEVER wants inside. You know, that wild one I told you about that's always bringing me something-dead prezzies, and loves the outdoors and hunting prey. He has been howling outside my back door to get in everyday this August."
Just so everyone remembers a cat's favorite side of the door is the other.
As a kid the family dog Ziggy used to dig a hole in the middle of my mom's carefully tended rock garden that wrapped around my dad's cinder block fallout shelter sticking 8 ft above ground in an attempt to camouflage. Underneath the garden's Yupon tree Ziggy got some shade and some cool earth during the Houston summers.
I think cats pretty much know how to do something like this as well. Or you can choose to play with the door, cats like that too.
Both of my friends have had the same experience in San Antonio with their cats getting skunked. Skunks seem to be a common varmint in San Antonio and when it gets this hot outside, you might hear your darling yammering, and against all of the usual house rules, open the back door in the 105° heat. They did. Oh stink, grab rubber gloves, grab the cat, set kitty tossing distance record, and then, "Shitt, I'm sorry I didn't mean to," would be the next immediate thought.
Of course, the cat stuck the landing, and I'm sure it was plenty pissed after recent events. It runs home for help, gets thrown from sanctuary, sprayed with a hose at arm's length, and I'm just guessing, now going to get a bath in a bucket, and doused with tomato juice the long-time remedy for skunk stink.
To finish off the job, Lysol, maybe air freshener, and a shot of whiskey if the cat happens to be a drinker. Happy cat.
Oh, I'm sorry I must have skipped over to what I WOULD DO. Absolutely sure neither one of my friends did any of that.
So that's what I'm thinking about. It's 3:00 a.m. August 23rd. It's cooled down from 105° at 5:00 p.m. but it's still a miserable 85° and I can't sleep. With my tinted windows up the parking lot lights don't bother me as much but that's not possible. I already ran the AC idling the car until I believe I blew a fuse, so the windows are open, sunroof is open, and I'm probably the only customer for a dashboard window screen at 3:00 a.m. in the Love's trucker store and gift shop. As always, '70s rock music is playing. Jimi Hendrix "Little Wing." I'm going to have a lot of surreal moments during this trip in the next 90 days.
They were out of the dashboard sunscreens for the front window, so I'll just wrap a t-shirt around my head lay the seat back and hope I fall asleep. First thing in the morning though I'm going to get a sunscreen for the front window so I can block the lights at night.
As I retire and try to get some shut eye before daybreak I'm looking out into the parking lot at a single sad dog. I'm going to guess it's a year old, and like the grackles I will see later in the morning, it's hoping it'll find a scrap, following its nose back and forth across the lawn next to our parking lot. I know it's futile because the Love's crew keeps the grounds immaculate, but somehow there is a little water here and there along the curb. The poor thing knows it's not drinkable, probably some nasty discharge from a camper van, but it drinks anyway. Just a little and continues the hunt, loping back and forth across the well-manicured lawn around the truck stop, in front of a linked fence area with a sign that says, "Dog Park."
(17 images Click On Image To Expand To Full Screen)
Yes, Love's truck stop also offers a dog park that's fenced in to let your pup run free after being cooped up in the cab of a truck, or car all day. But not this one. He hasn't had such a lucky ride.
But he's got a name now. Lopey.
If it was any other animal but a dog, I wouldn't have given him a name and have this urge to get out of my car and pick him up and take him with me. I've seen several other varmints in the wee hours of the morning the last couple of nights. No urge to help and pick up a raccoon, or an armadillo.
I think it's genetic. Neil deGrasse Tyson did a whole series on the evolution of man and dog. Sorry, there is another evolution of cats and people, something Egyptian, but that's not this story.
Lopey pulls his head up from his search and stops for a moment. It's not an alert to danger. Not caution. It's contemplation, I'm sure of it. He’s considering his situation for a moment. What he's doing just isn't working. The moment is over; he puts his head down and continues his quest towards the back of our car park adjacent to the front of the big rig parking on the back half of the property. Last time I checked there were 24 eighteen-wheelers parked this afternoon, up from 16 the night before.
What was pathetic and hopeless now has a possible good outcome. Why? If Lopey lopes back to where the trucks have been idling all night, waiting to take off at sunup, he might have to change his name from Lopey to Lucky.
He's definitely heading in the right direction.
Truckers are about the best neighbors you can have on the road. In the city their trucks are behemoths. They're awkward, take up half the intersection when they turn, and can look downright terrifying when one is filling your rearview mirror. Sometimes they may even seem discourteous.
They're doing the best they can. More importantly, they're the backbone of commerce in America.
Every morning, from truck stops scattered across Texas, they begin pulling out by the thousands, heading west, east, north and south with our food, medicine, furniture, toilet paper, refrigerators and practically everything else we suddenly discover we desperately need when it isn't on the shelf.
Here's the research. (At 3:45 a.m. in Love’s car park. I look up, and Lopey has disappeared.)
The latest comparable federal figures for 2023 freight by weight are roughly:
Trucks: 64.5–65% — about 13 billion tons
Pipelines: about 20%
Railroads: about 8% — roughly 1.5–1.6 billion tons
Water: about 4–5%
Multiple modes and mail: about 3–4%
Air freight: less than 0.1% by weight — only about 7 million tons
In other words, trucks move roughly eight times as much freight by weight as rail. Compared with airplanes, it isn't even a contest. Source: Federal Highway Administration
And these truckers are family men and women, every race and every background, spending an extraordinary amount of their lives away from home. There's a baby-changing table in the men's room at Love's. That tells you something.
CAR CAMPER NOTE: If you don't have a knife don't get impatient you may want to take whatever you are purchasing back so don't tear open the box. You can use your car keys as a saw to cut boxes open.
There are fuzzy stuffed animals and stick ponies for sale in Love’s "essentials for the road" store. Something for Daddy or Mama to carry home to a kid who hasn't seen them in a week. You can't exactly swing an 18-wheeler into the Toys "R" Us parking lot, even if you had the time.
So, the stuffed animals sit right there beside extra padding for your butt, work gloves, flashlights, phone chargers, tools, battery packs, CB accessories, truck-cleaning supplies and a hundred other things meant for somebody who actually lives part of his or her life on the highway.
CAR CAMPER NOTE: The Love's store isn't even one-tenth the size of a Buc-ee's. Gasoline is comparably priced, so it’s easy in and easy out. They have the necessities you'll need conveniently.
If it was any other animal but a dog, I wouldn't have given him a name and have this urge to get out of my car and pick him up and take him with me. I've seen several other varmints in the wee hours of the morning the last couple of nights. No urge to help and pick up a raccoon, or an armadillo.
BUT, If you need 25 varieties of peanut brittle, a six-foot stuffed beaver, a Buc-ee's Christmas ornament, a Buc-ee's swimsuit, a Buc-ee's cutting board, a Buc-ee's coffee mug, a Buc-ee's blanket, Buc-ee's baby Jamies, Buc-ee's onesie for an adult Jamies, jalapeño jelly, candied pecans, fudge, beef jerky, a metal chicken………
Yeah, I have until the sun comes up to make fun of Buc-ee’s. Nothing better to do. it’s going to be cooler by 6 a.m and maybe I can get some sleep.
……. scented candles, a camouflage cap, a rhinestone Texas T-shirt, Grandma's kitchen wisdom plaques, barbecue sauce in a dozen flavors, an art exhibition on the hike to the men's room, Buc-ee's has you covered there too. (My hot sweaty fever-dream thinking at 4:30 a.m. suggests there’s more.)
I love Buc-ee's. But let's face it. Nobody accidentally walks into Buc-ee's for a Coke and comes out with just a Coke. Locals do their Christmas shopping there. There are probably people who went inside for ice in 2019 and haven't found their way back to the car yet.
CAR CAMPER NOTE: Love's is where the working road lives. The car fan You see in the picture cost $16. They have tool sets and of course snacks and food and all the prices seem to be quite reasonable under what I would usually expect at a convenience store.
And if Lopey is heading toward that group of idling trucks tonight, toward that strange little nighttime community of men and women who spend their lives moving everything the rest of us depend upon, then maybe the story isn't over. Maybe one of those big-hearted truckers will spot him. Maybe somebody will open a door. Maybe Lopey gets a ride.
And maybe tomorrow morning we'll have to start calling him Lucky.