All choked up

I'd just completed a turn onto the I-94 entrance ramp and punched the accelerator when I heard 'the sound.' My paternal instinct -- somewhat surprisingly, in retrospect -- was instantaneous. I turned around to see Zoe with her chin buried in her chest and a curled tongue sticking out of her mouth.

In a span of what couldn't have exceeded two seconds, I reached back and grabbed a fistful of Zoe's winter jacket while simultaneously (and blindly) pulling over to the shoulder. I don't truly know what my intentions were with the coat-grab, but I know what my impression was: Zoe was choking. All of the following thoughts -- again, in retrospect -- somehow raced through my mind in those two seconds:

"We didn't bring a snack with us, what is she choking on? There must have been an old piece of 'baw' (Zoe likes to travel with cereal bars) within reach. If it was in the car overnight, it was probably frozen solid (it's been like negative-89 degrees here). It's lodged in her throat. F*%$."

When I grabbed Zoe's coat, she looked up at me... understandably shaken.

"Pig," she said, feebly.

I let go of Zoe's coat, turned around, steadied my shaking hands, pulled back onto the highway ramp, punched the accelerator and made a mental note:

When teaching your children animal sounds, tell them pigs say "oink, oink, oink" rather than the more authentic snorting sound.