Paw Royalty and Hailstorms

Pillow thrones, stormy skies, and songs that turn miles into reflections.

Before we even left Durango—my favorite stop so far—Chase staged a hotel coup. He claimed an entire bed for himself, stacking six fluffy pillows into a throne like some tiny monarch. He sat there, giving me that look that said, “Commoner, fetch my breakfast.” It still makes me laugh just thinking about it.

Durango had been wonderful: cozy, warm, with a stone church, a cute parkway, and food that cost more than I expected but tasted like magic. I left town without a clue that the next stretch would become a weather circus. If I’d been smart, maybe I would’ve checked the Farmer’s Almanac—or at least asked Google if New Mexico does snow and hail in May. Who knew?

Presenting: His Royal Highness, Lord Chase of Pillow Mountain. Throne secured. Breakfast demands pending.

Between Albuquerque and Clovis, what should have been an easy drive turned into 150 miles of the weather’s greatest hits: warm sunshine, sudden sleet, a whiteout of snow, then hail pounding the windshield so hard I could barely see. Each time I thought it was over, the temps would swing twenty degrees and it’d start again. It kept me tense and wide-eyed the whole way.

Funny thing is, Chase—who usually whines if a squirrel blinks the wrong way—was calm through it all. He slept, peeked up now and then with that same royal look, like he knew better than to add any extra stress. He kept me steady in his own quiet way.

Me and the real king of the road. And yes — I absolutely smoothed out my wrinkles for this. Don’t worry, Chase insisted on keeping his.

Music helped too. I sang loud, letting songs tug up old memories while I navigated each surprise squall. And then there was Cade’s voice, calling to remind me what this trip was really about. We’d been apart ten weeks—too long—and I was excited but nervous about seeing him at DFW. We always hug and kiss hello, but I knew I’d think twice there. Still, his energy brought back the spark I’d lost in the miles behind me. Soon, we’d be driving together to Rice, Texas to pick up our Casita. A new chapter. A lot more miles. Even more stories.

That’s what these roads do—strip away the noise, leaving room for reflections and memories. Even when I’m gripping the wheel through a surprise hailstorm in May, there’s Chase on his pillow throne, music in the background, and that reminder that the road always gives me exactly what I need—stories worth telling.

—R. Michael

If you enjoyed this story, you might also like my other series, Not That Anyone Asked — where I share life’s messy bits, lessons learned, and everything in between. Check it out here →