This story is actually about myself when I was about 4 years old. My father loved to drive but he only saw one purpose in it. Driving was to get him a way to get where he wanted to go.

The family would complain about his never slowing down for the potholes in the roads, and he would only say he was just following the road."

I asked Dad one evening after he ran over a particularly bad hole in the road, just what the holes were called. He kind of chuckled and told me they were called "chug holes". I piped up and asked him with all the knowledge a 4 year old little girl could muster... "Daddy, is that where chugs live?"