Devil Dog Road

Okay...so this picture is not from Devil Dog Road, but it is the spookiest picture I could find in my backlog of phone photos. I don't even remember where I saw this. The mud kind of looks like Utah, so maybe Utah...or western Colorado.

Speaking of western Colorado...a few years back, I broke down in Grand Junction. Pulled over to the edge of a side street, I tried to be helpful as Saint George, Linda, and Pete helped with the RV. Wise Linda suggested we get out of the heat and stand in the shade while the men discussed the vehicle. Buena was tied to handle next to the backdoor of the RV because, periodically, I'd have to go over and answer questions about the engine. Have you ever had the spark plugs replaced? What about the carburetor? Has it been rebuilt? While George worked on the engine, it sputtered and coughed. When it backfired, Buena jumped. The muffler was right next to where she'd been tied. It spooked her, and she stayed close to my legs until we figured out what to do.

More recently, like on this trip south from Craig to Lake Havasu, the muffler has been backfiring politely. Not the big ka-bangs! like from before. It only seems to backfire when I've had my foot on the gas for an extended period of time and then let up. These backfires are more like little wheezes and coughs. It's not too bad. I notice this happening when I'm driving over 50 m.p.h. at elevations over 5,000 feet. With Lake Havasu City at around 400-500 feet elevation, I'm not too worried. I just have to get there!

Right now, it looks like I've got an ETA on Kingman at 8:30. It feels later than that after driving all day. After Flagstaff, it got dark quickly. I'm glad that we'll soon be past the darkest days of winter.

We start to climb a little in elevation.

The muffler politely backfires.

As I worry about what's causing this and trace my knowledge of the engine to the problem, Buena hops onto the crate sitting next to me. It's her seat since I took out the passenger seat a few years ago to make space for tools and storage.

Each time the engine backfires, she looks over her shoulder toward the muffler, which is right outside the back door.

For a few moments, she stares intently toward the rear of the RV, despite there being no backfiring.

I glance in the rearview mirror almost expecting to see an apparition or something.

Nothing's there. Only darkness and headlights.

Ahead, a large green exit sign lights up in the darkness: Devil Dog Road.

The engine backfires again, and Buena makes a dive for the floorboard. Under my feet!

As she turns around, she pushes against my leg.

I lose footing on the gas pedal...and the brake.

"Buena! No! No! Get up here!"

She doesn't listen. Instead, she crouches in tight beneath my legs.

I've regained access to the brake and gas pedals, but it's not safe for her to be under there. Keeping my eye on the road, I slow down and reach for her, but I can't grab hold of her collar.

Devil Dog Road...half a mile ahead.

I've never really wanted to pull off at Devil Dog Road. At Bible college, some lessons centered around demonic oppression and familiar spirits. They attach to a person who invites them along through voodoo, witchcraft, or dabbling with new-age talismans or ideas. While these evil spirits might not be in possession of a person, they are like a darkness surrounding a person, bringing all kinds of misfortune and problems. The only way to break this is through the blood of Jesus and a good dose of the Holy Ghost.

Getting back to the reason I've never pulled off at this road... There's a reason for the name: Devil Dog Road. What beast gave name to this road? I didn't want some familiar spirit from a devil dog to attach to my dog.

However, on this dark night, I'm going to have to pull off at this dark road to dislodge Buena from beneath my feet.

While holding Buena in place, I ease off the interstate and around the quick bend on the short exit ramp. Fortunately, there's a dirt parking space at the bottom of the ramp. I pull onto it and put the vehicle in park.

As I remove Buena from the floorboard area, I realize I'm shaking with fear. That could have been a bad situation on the interstate. I may need to think about leashing or harnessing Buena if she's going to start doing this while driving the RV.

"It's okay, baby," I say softly as I coax her from the floorboard.

She's tense and doesn't want to come up.

"Come on," I say. "Here...I'll turn off the engine. How's that?"

She relaxes a bit.

"Come on, let's go outside."

With that, she scrambles up from the floorboard and toward the back door.

I know it's going to be cold out there, so I brace myself before opening the door. Holding the leash with one hand, and my coat closer to my body with the other, I stand on the side of the road and look up at the sky.

The stars sparkle like diamonds.

I thank the Lord for the traveling safety and pray that I can make it safely the rest of the way.