A childhood belief about imaginary friends

My sister and I used to pretend there was a giant skunk that followed the family car, floating along behind us like a giant Macy's Day float. His name was Saywer.
Whenever we went across the bridge between our part of town and West Lebanon, Sawyer, sinking like a giant nimbus cloud, would hover in mid-air to take a sip from the river.
During this dilemma we peered anxiously through the rearview windows, our kiddie chorus peeping the chant, "Hurry up! Hurry up!", while we waved with as much exertion that a 5-7 year old can muster.
He usually finished lapping by the time Mom or Dad quieted our chatter. Then Saywer rejoined our journey , and then and only then was it all right to go on home.
More than anything, we didn't want him to be left behind.