Crash into me.

More dog stories.

Shortly after the fowl incidents detailed in my last blog entry, I was asked by another friend to watch her rottweiler/lab mix, Gadget. No problem. One dog is really not that much more difficult than two (as long as she's not homicidal towards chickens), so I said sure. Evie usually spends the day outside in my fenced-in yard while I'm at work, so I invited my friend to leave Gadget with her in the yard.

I get home around 4:45, and both Gadget and Evie are at the gate to meet me. I squeeze through the gate and shut it behind me, leaving my car running in the road. I manage to herd both dogs into my screened-in porch and shut the doors. I roll open the gate, pull the car in, park it, am out of the car and literally 2 feet from having the gate completely closed, when the dogs throw their collective weights against the doors of the porch, break them open, escape from the gate, and take off.

Fuck.

I start walking down the road towards the dogs, not wanting to chase them lest they start to think it's a game (as dogs are wont to do). They run, stop, sniff, run again, and are getting closer and closer to the intersection of the main road near my house. Not good. Not good at all. I continue to chase/not chase them to that very intersection, where they take to gallivanting around the road. Awesome. My own dog I am hysterically concerned about, but I am even more concerned about the dog whose safety has been entrusted to me for the night. I call to her, "Gadget! Please don't get hit by a car!"

At that moment a car appears over the hill. I run into the road with my hands up, the universal signal to slow down. They pass, without incident. I breathe a sigh of relief. I turn to look for Evie, who is over in a ditch investigating. I turn around in time to see another car coming. Gadget is over on the side of the road. Again, I'm in the middle of the road with my hands up. The car slows. Suddenly, Gadget turns and sprints across the road.

Thud.

The sight of her getting hit by that car, and especially the sound, is forever imprinted on my mind. The car doesn't roll over her, but Gadget starts howling, and limping towards the side of the road. She is refusing to use one of her paws, and from the way it was hanging, I'm convinced that it's broken. She's in pain, and lays down in the middle of the road.

I run over to her, concerned with getting her out of the road. I try to lift her - not an insubstantial feet - and she rolls on her back and bites at my arm. I am near tears, but the adrenaline makes me act. I'm concerned that she has broken ribs, and I'm hurting her as I'm trying to lift her. I stand in the road, indecisive, for a few seconds, until I hear another car in the distance.

"CAN SOMEBODY HELP ME?!" I shriek. The four men sitting on the corner drinking Medalla (our local beer) peer at me with mild interest. Finally, a woman jumps out of the car that hit Gadget and comes to my aid. "CATCH MY DOG!" I scream - Evie is still running around the road, and now I can see the other car coming. Jesus Christ, I have one injured dog, I don't know how I can handle two. She manages to capture Evie, and I get Gadget to the side of the road. The stranger sits with Evie on her lap, and I ask her to hold Gadget's collar. "I'll be right back!" I call. "I'm going to get my car!"

Down the road I sprint - over four speed bumps in 2" wedges. The distance is shorter than a short block in NYC, so I'm at my trailer almost instantly. I wrench the gate open, slam the key in the ignition, gun the engine, and squeal my way back to the intersection. The stranger from the car gets Evie in the back seat, and I coax Gadget in. I drive immediately to the Humane Society, the only veterinary clinic on the island. There's actually only a vet on island Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, but this is one of those days so I pray help will be there.

I arrive at the humane society, leave both dogs in the car, run in absolutely disheveled, and shriek, "I have a dog that was hit by a car!" Bring her in, they say. I go out to the car to get her - and now Gadget has decided she is not coming out. She has shit in my backseat (though luckily on a raincoat, which I can hose off when I get home), and is in no mood to be handled by anybody. She is walking back and forth between the front passenger seat and the backseat - but at least she's walking! She's using all four paws. I almost collapse with relief.

I get the ladies from the Humane Society to help me, and with the use of a muzzle and a blanket we get Gadget out of the car. They take her inside, and poke and prod. The vet has gone home for the day, but they're not terribly concerned - it doesn't seem like anything is broken, and she's not bleeding anywhere. I, however, am - the shelter manager points to a deep gash on my wrist that has left blood trickling down my arm. It must have happened when I was trying to get Gadget out of the road. The adrenaline was so strong, I didn't even feel it. They give the dog a shot for the pain, and two pain pills for later, and send me on my way.

Now I have to call the owner.

I cannot think of a more difficult phone call that I've had to make. "Hi, friend. Remember the dog, your baby, your child, who you entrusted to me for care? Well, she got out of my yard, and was hit by a car." I have never felt so guilty or incapable in my life. What a stroke of luck that my friend had decided not to spend the night in Puerto Rico - by the time I get ahold of her, she is already back on island. When my friend gets to my house, Gadget is obviously in distress, but also obviously going to be fine. At that point I completely break down, sobbing my heart out on the shoulder of the friend who I betrayed. Although she keeps assuring me it wasn't my fault, and she was glad it happened with me and no one else, I can't shake the feeling of guilt. I have watched Evie break out of my porch before, so I knew it was a possibility. I was lazy, and incautious. If I had taken the extra step and put them in the house, it would not have happened. It's my fault, and no one else's.

I see my friend the next afternoon at work. She has taken Gadget to be seen by the vet, who couldn't believe she was hit by a car less than 24 hours earlier. Everything is going to be fine. Two weeks later, the wound on my wrist has healed, but I still have a scar. I almost hope the scar will stay, as a reminder of an instance where I knew better.

But if I can't swim after forty days, and my mind is crushed by the crashing waves...

So a few weeks ago we were hit with what would go on to become Tropical Storm Bonnie. That was rain like I have never experienced. I thought my poor little trailer was going to wash away in the river running down the road. I spent all night wide awake, cuddled up with my dog and two cats, as the bed shook underneath me every time the thunder crashed. Surreal, for sure.

The next day, I go into work, to discover we have no internet, no network, no phones, and one of our buildings has flooded with 18" of water overnight. Not only did everything in the ground floor of that building get destroyed, we had also been using the rooms as storage for some carpets that hadn't yet been deployed. Super. I spend all day filing - and really, digging my eyes out with forks would be less painful that sitting in a room by myself, with no music, filing for hours upon hours. Shortly before I leave work, I get a phone call from a friend asking me to watch their dog, Tato, overnight while they go to San Juan. I say sure, of course, and stop on my way home to pick Tato up and bring him to my house.

Tato and Evie are good friends, and even though it's still raining a little and my yard is one giant mud puddle, I let them out to run around for a bit when I get home. I step outside 45 minutes later to call them in to dinner - and they have a chicken. About the same size as the one my dog killed a week ago. Evie is joyously flinging it around by its neck, having a blast. I throw on some boots, grab a shovel, and race outside. I charge towards Evie with the shovel, she spooks, and I am able to scoop up the chicken.

I'm about to throw it in the trash, when I realize the poor thing is still breathing. It's not moving, and its eyes are closed, but it's breathing. I am absolutely distraught. I have no idea what to do. It's not like there's a vet here on the island that could help it, and even if there was, this thing is definitely on its way out. It looks like its neck is broken. I'm trying very hard not to cry - I mean, I am a vegetarian after all. So I decide to try to get it into my neighbor's yard, thinking that on the off chance it survives it'll be home, and if it doesn't, at least it can pass peacefully into the big chicken coop in the sky without being further tormented by my evil dogs.

I try to lean the shovel over the fence and deposit it on the ground, and realize that given the height of the fence and the length of the shovel handle, I can only get it about 2 feet off the ground, and then it'll drop. Well, that'll kill it. Also, the neighbor's yard has a good half inch of water in it, so if the fall doesn't kill it, it'll drown for sure. Then I start to think maybe that would be best. Put it out of it's misery. I can't quite bring myself to kill it though, so I go to a different part of the fence, and am able to deposit it the poor thing (still breathing) on a cinder block wall.

I'm now pretty wet, so I round up the dogs and bring them back inside. The dogs continue to wrestle and play, and they decide to try to get my rescue cat, Frankie, in on the act. Now, Frankie is completely not amused. Suddenly there's hissing and swiping. Tato is being slightly aggressive, and I'm afraid this is going to get bloody, so I try to reach over, extract Frankie, and deposit him on higher ground. Well, it sure did get bloody, but not the way I thought - his claw snagged my arm and left a four inch gash. Excellent. Cursing rather loudly, I head to the bathroom, wash it off, and then manage to get Frankie in the bedroom and shut the door, so he can have a little peace.

About an hour and a half later, I walk into my bedroom to check on my poor kitty, and smell a faint but distinct odor of ammonia. I walk around the bed, and Frankie is crouched on a pillow, peeing. As I watch, a river, no, a flood of cat pee expands over the pillow and out across the floor. He's not 6 feet from the litter box, but I guess he hasn't figured out how to use it yet. He usually spends a lot of time outside, but because of the rain and then the dogs, I had kept him in most of the day. Big mistake, Gillian. Big mistake. I try to pick him up and carry him to the litter box, but he just keeps peeing. At this point I realize I have nothing to do but wait it out. He obviously held it as long as he could, and there's no stopping him now. When he finishes, I remember I only have half a roll of paper towels in the house.

I wipe up the pee with two hand towels that needed washing anyway, which I then put in a plastic bag on top of the washer outside to try to keep the odor contained. I carry the pillow out too, thinking maybe I can rinse it off. I put it in the sink and start running water, then go back in, grab the paper towels and some floor cleaner, and clean up the rest of the mess. I do this lying on my stomach on my bed and reaching over, because I'm not sure exactly where all the cat pee is and I really don't care to step in it. I've had animals my whole life, and I've stepped in my share of cat and dog pee. It's not really an experience I ever want to repeat. I head back outside to deal with the pillow, and give up. There's no saving this. I carry it over to drop in my trash can over my fence. It goes halfway in, because my garbage hasn't been picked up in at least a week. Spectacular.

In the meantime, I've let the dogs out again. It suddenly strikes me that they are very quiet. Without turning around, I say to them, "I don't care what you're getting into, as long as it's not another chicken."

The words are no sooner out of my mouth than Evie comes racing around the corner of the trailer with a chick dangling by its feet. FUCK! Back inside I go, get the shovel, chase the dogs inside, lock them up, and then I'm off to find the dead chicken. It's now dark, and I am terrified I am going to find it by hearing the crunch as I step on it. I luck out though, and find it, scoop it up in the shovel - and this one's really dead. So I walk outside my fence, lift the cat-pee-soaked pillow out of the trash, and deposit the chicken underneath.

Back inside I go. It's definitely bedtime. Except that Tato WILL NOT settle! I put up with it for about two hours, and then I cave. I reach for the children's allergy medicine that I bought when Evie got stung by something and her whole chin swelled up. I give Tato a dose, which seems to knock him out. I go back to sleep.

Two hours later - Tato is pulling on my sheets. He is wide awake. I finally am forced to shut him and Evie out of the bedroom, and they continue to wrestle (and bark) all night.

They wake me up for good at 5am. I am now two nights sleep deprived, between the thunder and the crazy dogs. I swing my legs over the bed, plant my feet on the floor, and realize they're wet. My trailer isn't totally level, so any liquid from the main area runs downhill into my bedroom. One of the dogs (and I have my suspicions about which one) peed during the night. I am now completely out of paper towels. I use another towel that has to get washed, throw it with the two from the previous evening, and let the dogs out again.

I lie back down on my bed for about half an hour, but am so strung out I can't sleep. I finally get up, and start to hear a disturbance outside. Bawk. Bawk bawk bawk BAWK BAWK!

This is not happening. This is not happening. I look outside just in time to see Tato grab a THIRD CHICKEN by its neck. I scream at the top of my lungs (sorry neighbors - but your roosters crow ALL NIGHT, so I don't actually feel that bad...), and he drops it. Evie, being a dog of opportunity, snatches it and is off racing around the yard. I throw on clothes, grab the shovel again, and out I go.

I manage to get the dogs back inside. I find the chicken - this one's also definitely dead. I scoop it up, lift the cat-pee-soaked pillow out of the trash, and deposit this dead chicken next to the other. I really hope my trash gets picked up today.

I've now determined Tato is not going outside again until I drop him off at his house on my way to work. Evie is going to spend the day in her crate because it's supposed to keep raining. I let her out while I finish getting ready, then orchestrate a fast switch, getting Tato out onto the porch and Evie inside into her crate before either of them realizes I'm separating them. I grab my purse, head out to the car, coax a muddy Tato into the back seat, where he really does not want to go, open the gate, put my key in the ignition, turn and... nothing. Nothing fucking happens! My car is dead.

This is where I lose it. I am two nights sleep deprived. I have dealt with three dead chickens, a river of dog pee and a flood of cat pee. I just want to get Tato home and go to work. I have a phone number for a mechanic, but it's a land line, and all the phone lines are still down on the island. I finally do what I always do when I'm in trouble - I call Nancy and Chipper.

Nancy and Chipper are my surrogate parents down here on the island, but also very very close friends. And they have bailed me out of trouble more times than I can remember. I really don't know how I would survive down here without them.

Nancy answers the phone, and somehow through my unintelligible irrational sobbing, manages to figure out what's going on. She wakes up Chipper, sends him down, and he is able to get my car running. I drop Tato off at his house, head into work, and drink lots of coffee.

The whole day is rough. I'm exhausted and stressed, and having some trouble coping. It suddenly dawns on me - I am so not ready to have kids.