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.