We get no sleep. Well, Chris gets maybe a snore in here and there. But I get nothing - NADA. The room service elevator and the accompanying food cart have been relentless. Despite the fact that I have given Herman a sedative – something I detest doing – he still freaks out completely each and every time the descending elevator sounds its screeching war-cry. Which is roughly every half hour or so, up until at least 3:00 a.m.
The rank oppressiveness in the hotel room is equally miserable. The bed is SO fucking uncomfortable that is defies description. It’s not even a bed. It’s a ratty old mattress balanced on broken springs with a huge, bucket-like sagging HOLE in the middle. In fact, I will not go into these ($120.00 per NIGHT) room conditions any further because I truly dislike reminding myself of how skeevy everything was. I wonder if everyone’s room was this disgusting, or if they just reserve these rooms for the DOG-FRIENDLY GUESTS. In which case, DOG-FRIENDLY must be the official euphemism for ‘SCUM OF THE EARTH WHO DESERVE NOTHING BUT SHIT’ with the Best Western folks. We would have been a million times better off pitching a tent somewhere and fuckin’ CAMPING prior to this wedding. But of course, life lessons are nearly always 20/20 hindsight.
Sunrise: Glaringly, scorching-hot. The sluggish, dripping arrival of morning feels simultaneously unforgiving and taunting. Morning is HELL. In a daze of exhaustion, I look over at Ellie and Herm. They are both snoring now. I want so badly to just pack us all into the car and hit the thruway – make a beeline for our cabin near Woodstock, never looking back. We can explain later to the bride and groom that we had an emergency…that I became sick: Botulism from the ROOM SERVICE. Surely they’d understand. (Besides, based upon the way I’m feeling right about now, this could very well be the truth…)
Chris sits up, groans. “It’s so fucking HOT.”
Me: “I got my period – like - just this minute. I’m going to go kill myself.”
Chris: “Please don’t start. Let’s just get moving.”
I think I am in a complete state of shock as I gather Ellie and Herman’s toys and snacks into a duffle bag to bring along to the kennel. The dogs are both so happy today, in the new morning light. Ellie wolfs down her morning Pupperoni’s with her usual gusto. Frisky and playful, Herman nips at my elbows. Eyes bright, he presents his favorite tennis ball for me to toss. Thankfully, neither seem to notice that I am silently, uncontrollably sobbing.
We dress and hustle out to the car. The plan for today was discussed thoroughly the night before: Drop the dogs off at the kennel first thing in the morning. Come back to the hotel to shower and dress for the wedding. CHECK OUT OF THIS FUCKING HOTEL. Church and reception. Pick the dogs up from the kennel by closing time, 7:30 p.m. (Originally, we thought we’d board the dogs overnight but between our stress and the putrid hotel conditions, we just can’t see paying an extra cent or staying in this ‘hood for any longer than absolutely necessary.) Finally: GET THE HELL OUTTA DODGE.
In a fog, we arrive at MARY’S KENNEL. We pull into the gravel driveway, the same one as yesterday. Dogs inside yowling – same ones as yesterday. Ellie and Herm jumpy…definitely JUMPIER than they were yesterday. We ring the doorbell and the door swings open.
It’s not MARY.
The guy who lets us in was here yesterday, too, but just barely. Sort of on the periphery, futzing around and grinning at us in a bashfully vague way. I don’t like to use the word ‘simpleton’, but that’s what comes to mind. MARY had referred to him as her ‘partner’. I had the impression that he was probably a handyman, kept the place hosed down, fences mended and such. Anyhow, so now here we are face to face with this dude.
Me: “Hi, is MARY around?”
Handy-Dude: “Mary won’t be here today.” There’s that dull smile.
Me: “What? She won’t be here?”
Handy-Dude (In a measured, labored cadence): “That’s right. Mary had an emergency and she won’t be here today.”
I look up at Chris and say: “That’s it, let’s get the fuck out of here right now.” I can feel all the blood draining from my face.
Chris: “Take it easy, Lynn, take it easy. I’m sure it’ll be okay…”
Me: “NO, THIS IS NOT OKAY. I AM NOT LEAVING THEM HERE IF MARY IS NOT GONNA BE HERE. WE DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR THIS.”
Handy-Dude: “You’re here to drop off the dogs?”
Together: Me: “NO.”
Chris: “Yes.”
Me (to Handy-Dude): “Listen, no offense to you, but I’m very nervous about boarding these two. They’ve never been boarded before and MARY has all the details as to their specific needs. When will she be back?”
H-Dude: “Oh, not until much later today. She had an emergency.”
Me (more to myself than to anyone): “Christ. O, Christ. I don’t like this.”
Chris: “Lynn, I have to do this wedding…” He’s getting all upset again.
Me (Desperately): “Then go without me. I’ll go back to the hotel with the dogs and wait for you…”
Chris: “No, Lynn. I want you there with me.”
Handy-Dude: “Please don’t worry, ma’am. Your dogs will be fine. We take care of all kinds of dogs. This is what we do.”
I am wringing my hands and fighting off a full-blown panic attack. My head swivels from Chris to Handy-Dude down to Herman and Ellie, who are both panting and pulling toward the exit, no doubt sensing my alarm along with their own anxiety about being back in this LODGE OF THE HOWLING PRISONER DOGS.
Very near tears now, I look into my husband’s eyes pleadingly. He gently rubs my shoulder, says softly: “It’ll be okay, hon. Have a little faith.”
Sensing defeat, I fix my gaze down at Ellie and Herm, shaking my head in sorrow.
Handy-Dude is drawling again: “Maybe … you want to … follow me … and bring them … back to the pens? It will … probably … be easier for all of us.”
Numbly I follow, dragging Ellie who has become an impossibly heavy and unwieldy bowling ball. Chris brings up the rear, wrestling a bucking and whimpering Herman. The long corridor we go down is lined with barking, snarling, howling dogs of all description. The noise is ear-splitting and I feel like shrieking right along with them.
We arrive at the pens. Handy-Dude gestures for me to bring Ellie into one. I pull her in. She sniffs the concrete floor, worried. And then, THE UNTHINKABLE: Handy-Dude takes Herman’s leash from Chris’ hand and pulls Herman INTO THE SAME STALL AS ELLIE, slamming the gate behind them. Ellie and Herm are now standing side by side, staring at me thru the chain link fence, wearing expressions of pure disbelief that I can never forget.
“SHIT!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” I cry out frantically, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
“WHAT? WHAT IS IT?” Handy-Dude reels as if I have back-handed across the chops.
“THEY CAN NOT BE IN THE SAME ENCLOSURE!!! MARY KNOWS THIS! I WENT OVER THIS WITH MARY AT LEAST 50 TIMES! JEEEESUS!!! THIS IS NO GOOD!” I spin around to face Chris: “THIS IS NOT GOOD. WE ARE NOT LEAVING THEM HERE.”
Handy-Dude moves faster than I would’ve thought possible. He re-enters their pen, grasps Herman’s collar and hastily leads him into the separate adjoining stall, latching the gate firmly. But he’s left Ellie’s pen unlatched, and she immediately starts pushing her way out to escape.
Me: “YOU DIDN’T CLOSE ELLIE’S GATE! O MY GOD, SHE WILL TRY TO RUN AWAY IF YOU DON’T PROPERLY CLOSE THESE GATES!!! THEY BOTH WILL!!!”
Handy-Dude is muttering apologetically as he latches Ellie’s gate, saying such things as: “Please don’t worry. They will be fine. You should leave now, it’s for the best…”
In anguish, I look at Ellie and Herm as if for the last time. They are returning my gaze, both are very concerned since it must seem as tho’ the next stop for MOMMY is the insane asylum. Chris is guiding me by the elbow back down, down, down the howling corridor. Now I can hear my own dog’s distressed cries joining the hellish chorus and my heart cracks in half. I am convulsed in sobs. I turn to Handy-Dude as we reach the front door.
Me: “You listen to me. I don’t know what this emergency is all about, but I want MARY to call me, IMMEDIATELY. I want to speak with MARY myself. TODAY. NOW. Okay?? My cell phone will be ON and I am WAITING FOR HER CALL. OKAY???”
Handy-Dude: “Yes, yes. I’m sorry about all this. But it will be okay. This is what we do…please try to enjoy your day…”
Me (bitterly): “Not a chance. Not on your LIFE.”
I sob the entire way back to the hotel, literally unable to speak. Several times I implore Chris to turn it around so we can get Ellie and Herman out of that place. He’s a little tearful too, but he is resolute and firm.
Chris: “Let’s just get thru this wedding and we’ll pick them up right after. We won’t even stay for the whole reception.”
TO BE CONTINUED….
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