Around this time of year, I always like to take advantage of the fact that we live really close to a beautiful old cemetery. So close, in fact, that a slightly longer way to get to and from the med school goes right through its windy roads. The other day, Julian and I were coming home from dropping Ted off and I decided to cut through the cemetery. We were driving along, admiring the leaves and tipped-over-headstones when all of a sudden we got to a section of the road that had been blocked off for some reason with three orange cones. I pulled to a stop, trying to figure out what to do. The road was pretty narrow with not much room to turn around, but it was either that or go past the cones. As I was considering my options, I heard frantic honking behind me, then someone yelling “Go! I have to keep driving!!!” over and over. I glanced behind me and saw an older woman surrounded by tiny white barking dogs. My mind might be exaggerating but I’m pretty sure I saw at least nine dogs crawling around all over her and the front seat of the car. I hopped out of the car, deciding to move the cones out of the way but apparently was taking way too long. Very quickly she grew impatient with my efforts and I heard tires squeal as she slammed on the gas pedal. As I watched, she pulled around my car, drove over the grass very narrowly missing a headstone, then zoomed away leaving me with so many questions. Why would someone drive through the cemetery if they were in such a huge rush? Who was this old lady and where was she headed with her band of distraught poodles? Was she even real?