As I pulled into a lay-by on the side of the A66, I flung the bonnet open to the tune of Caesar shrieking in the boot. His shrill barks effectively saying "are we there yet?" No Caesar, we're exactly half way to where we're supposed to be going. Too far to go back, too far to carry on. Typical.
To call the RAC or not to call the RAC? That is the question! As I pondered this, I heard a shout from behind me. In a desperate bid to free themselves, the dogs had broken down the barrier. Caesar is now sitting in the drivers seat of the people carrier and Gemma has her head stuck in the picnic basket. Now what? If I open the doors, Gemma will jump out and we risk her running out onto the A66. Caesar's awareness of cars is marginally better and thankfully, although he's not the best traveller, he does usually stay when you tell him to. Usually.
Do the RAC deal with this sort of thing? Oil light showing and designated driver usurped by rogue Staffordshire Bull Terrier?
"Someone will get to you in around seventy-five minutes." Said the friendly RAC call handler. "Is that ok?"
At least I could blame Caesar for the responding growl.