The Blizzard of Ros

Donny was given a reprieve from his hum-drum, black and white Kansas existence by Uncle Henry, owner of Golden Highway Motors. “Some lady in New Mexico bought this little flying monkey, sight unseen,” he’d said of the classic ruby red sports car. “How ‘bout you deliver it to her personally?”

There’s no place like home, Donny thought as he snatched the keys and sped off like a tornado. And I don’t mean that in a good way. He’d miss his cat Otto who, despite its penchant for biting neighbors, had been his only friend, but otherwise was giddy to put Kansas in his rearview mirror.

Soon, however, he grew lonely, and eager for companions to share his newfound freedom. In Wichita he picked up Crow, a black labrador retriever he found mindlessly wandering along the road. Outside Oklahoma City he discovered Lyon, a Gallic rooster, cowering from his own shadow in a third-rate petting zoo. At a honky tonk in Amarillo he came across Woody, a small pot-bellied pig, drunkenly complaining to anyone who’d listen about his heart condition.

His three new friends had two very odd things in common: they all spoke English (Do all animals outside Kansas talk? Donny wondered,) and they were all desperate to get to Roswell, New Mexico. Not, as one might expect of talking animals, to board the mothership and return to their home planet, but rather to consume a very specific food item from a very specific restaurant.

“The Blizzard of Ros,” Woody wheezed, “can only be found at the Dairy Queen outside Roswell.” A small seizure followed, after which the pig continued. “Only by eating one can my vasovagal syncope be cured.”

“And my panophobia treated,” added Lyon, suddenly terrified by the sound of his own voice. “I’m tired of being a chicken!”

“And my brain thing be more gooder,” drooled Crow before being distracted the need to bark at a cloud.

Idiots, Donny thought as they sped toward their destination. But what if these delusional talking animals were right? Maybe the Blizzard of Ros could help him figure out how he’d get home once he’d delivered the car. Uncle Henry had left that little detail out. “I don’t know,” he’d said back in Kansas. “Maybe click your heels together and wish real hard.” It was a pretty random thing for anyone to say, but then Uncle Henry did like wearing high heels. And pigtails. And print dresses. Life was hard for Uncle Henry in a place like Kansas, Donny suddenly realized.

He was roused from his epiphany by the thump-thump-thump of a wagging tail against his headrest. “DEE KYOO DEE KYOO DEE KYOO,” excitedly woofed Crow. “STOP THE CAR STOP THE CAR HEY GUYS LOOK ITS A CLOUD STOP THE CAR!!!!!” In his uncontrollable ecstasy the dog leaped into Donny’s lap, forcing him to recklessly pull to the side of the road and into a gas station lot across the street from the Dairy Queen.

“Damn it you stupid dog! You almost-“ Donny had the wind knocked out of him as the 90 pound canine bound from his lap through the open window and sprinted across the desert highway. Lyon timidly followed, inwardly answering the age-old question of why the chicken crossed the road. Regaining his breath Donny picked up the wheezing and lethargic Woody, exited the car and soon thereafter joined his traveling menagerie inside a weirdly-glowing Dairy Queen.

“Get out!” Ordered the green alien-masked teen behind the counter, pointing to the “No Animals Allowed” sign in the window. Thinking quickly, Donny donned the sunglasses he kept in his pocket, announced to the clerk that he was blind, and that his companions were his service animals. The apologetic teen quickly served up four Blizzards of Ros, and the group gathered at an outside picnic bench to begin their expected transformation.

Crow inhaled his treat as dogs do, and immediately experienced a tremendous brain freeze. “Brain….gooder!” The dog announced before curling up for a contented nap.

Lyon timidly pecked at his Blizzard while staring at his own distorted reflection on the surface of a chromed napkin dispenser. “I’m bigger! Stronger! Braver!” He crowed, and charged into highway traffic to prove he feared nothing.

“It does my heart good to see them get their wishes,” weakly whispered Woody as Donny spoon fed the fading pig.

Donny eyed his own Blizzard, slowly melting in the desert heat. The dog, the chicken, the pig…in some twisted way, they’d all got what they wanted, didn’t they? Could it be possible? He wondered. What the heck, here goes nothing, Donny thought as she shoveled down the frozen concoction.

Suddenly a gleaming white Corvette convertible, driven by the most beautiful woman Donny had ever seen, arrived from the north and pulled up next to the picnic table. “You must be Donny. I’m Linda,” she purred even lower than the muscle car’s engine. “And that must be my new car there parked at the gas station. Tell you what. I know the owner, he’ll keep an eye on it. What do you say I drive you back home?”

I’m definitely not in Kansas anymore, Donny observed as he hopped into the passenger seat. Soon enough he would be, but then again, maybe not? A lot of weird things can happen on the road.