WARM AND FUZZY.

March 22, 2007

Not every call ends in chaos. Some begin that way—and end in something better.

We were dispatched to the side of the highway where a cop had been flagged down… by a Buick. A rusty old Regal, barely hanging together, had pulled over a patrol car. The horn only worked once. The speedometer? Dead. But the driver? All smiles—nervous, sweating, and grinning ear to ear.

His wife was in labor. Early. Fast.

By the time we got there, it was too late for anything but catching. In the backseat of that beat-up Buick, with snowcapped peaks behind us and traffic crawling past, a little girl let out her first cry. The dad cried too. So did the mom. And for a brief second, the world felt right.

No chaos. No violence. Just life, screaming into the world from the back of a junker with velvet seats.

Yeah. That one was warm and fuzzy.