Texas to Kansas

The ice in the crates was a good idea. But, a mess to deal with. Ice turns to cold water turns to warm water, after all. Up in the cab of the truck, we knew that the dogs would be sitting in puddles, some of them water only, some of them water enhanced by fear and bad digestive systems, and we knew that we would have to clean out all the crates. This was not an attractive prospect, but it was unavoidable. So, at a rest area about 35 miles east of Dallas, in total darkness, we strapped on headlamps, opened the back of the truck to the usual cacophony, and set to work.

We released one dog at a time, Cathy taking the dog out into the grassy area to walk them and let them do their overdue business and to give them some personal attention, while I untied the crates, one at a time, and carried them out of the truck. Slippery, smelly, and dark, my headlamp the only thing allowing me to do this job, I'd set the crate down on the edge of the truck, jump to the ground, and then carry the crate off into the grass. I'd dump it out, clear out any rubbish or nastiness, give it a last shake, and then set it down, in line in order, and go back to the truck. I'd get out the next dog (no mean feat this, as they without exception charged the open door and required holding back in order to get a leash on) and lead it out into the grass on a leash as Cathy finished up with her dog and put it into a clean crate. Then she'd take the next dog from me and I'd go back to fetch its crate. Again and again, 16 times, we did this, one side of the truck at a time. When one side was complete and 8 dogs waited in the grass in their clean crates, we'd start to reload them, one at a time, tying them in as they were and checking their steadiness. Then, when they were all back in place, we moved to the other side of the truck and started again. This whole process took about two hours and gained us many strange looks and not too many friends among the truckers attempting to sleep about 100 yards away. We sent up quite a racket.

Afterward, thoroughly tired and coated in sweat and all manner of dog matter, we set out to try and get past Dallas. We did, negotiating the speedy traffic on the 6-lane highway through town, past Outback Steakhouse after Outback Steakhouse, and we spent the night in a Motel 6 north of North Dallas, sleeping like the dead with the dogs in the truck, the door propped partway open for air. The weather was nice at night, so we didn't worry about the mutts. We did worry about our fellow motel guests, but we asked for a room in the back and we got no complaints, so no one could have been too disturbed.

This morning we woke to the sound of dogs barking. Imagine that.

We were up and packed and out at 8, letting the dogs out two at a time, walking and running and drinking and crapping and doing what dogs do when released from a crate. Namely: going slightly nuts. These are all good dogs, all very happy when free, some very skittish, some incredibly thin, bags of bones and skin, but all good dogs. We're learning their personalitites already, and I can tell it's gonna be hard to drop them off and have them out of our lives. When it gets tempting to get mad at them, or yell at them to shut the hell up already, all it takes is a quick thought of what they've been through, how they may have been abandoned to the storm, and how they may have managed to survive, to quell the rising blood. We have no idea what hell they've endured, and when they look through the bars into our eyes, or they mash themselves up against our legs when we walk them, it's all I can do to hold it together and keep from turning into a blubbering idiot.

Now, they're clean(er) and dry, and we feel good about the shape they're in. As I write this Cathy's driving into Kansas, the dogs quiet in the back. It's 4pm, and in about an hour we'll stop and feed them. After that we'll give them some water and take off again. Then, after a couple hours, we'll stop again and let each of them out for a quick walk and some relief, then they're back in the crates for the night. We'll drive as far as I can manage, then stop for the night. We were hoping to make Denver by this evening, but everything seems to take longer than we've imagined, and I don't think we'll get there. I have a feeling it'll be late Saturday when we get home. That's ok, I suppose. It'd be nice to get back Friday, but we hadn't planned for it to be so hot yesterday or for tending to the dogs to take as long as it does.