Then I remembered the dogs.
I looked, and there they were, poised, like buzzards on a bargeload of medical waste, licking and trembling. Gazes fixed, noses almost touching.
Blessedly intact. Miraculously solid. Incredibly uneaten.
Now, I haven't stopped until just this moment to ask myself, 'Self? do you think there might have been any more little brown cars on that choo-choo?' And I prefer that to remain unasked; a mystery, like the interdimensional time-space portal in Beaver, Oklahoma, and much of the Catholic religion.