So, after having relieved myself AND getting the grand tour of FATHER’S CHAMBERS, I grab me a seat just as the bridal procession kicks in and begins marchin up to the altar. Yup, there goes my hubster in his new shoes looking very sharp indeed, right down to those pesky suspenders. Praise the Lord.
I sit by myself in the next-to-last pew all the way at the back of the church. It’s a very long service, all the bells and whistles for this one. Utter fatigue comes at me in a brutal wave. I spend the duration of the ceremony with my hands clasped and head bowed. People must think I’m terribly religious, but what I’m doing is sending psychic messages to Ellie and Herman. I’m so sorry, my Bubbies, but this could not be avoided. Mommy is on her way to save you soon. Please be strong. I love you. I love you. I love you.
My tears fall in hot, wet splashes onto the polished wooden bench in front of me.
* * * * * * * * *
Reception. It’s all such a haze now. Outdoor cocktail hour: Sauna-esque. Storm clouds are stealthily gathering. Chris is off with the wedding party posing for pictures. I sit alone indoors where it’s slightly cooler, nursing my seriously swollen ankle and a glass of red wine. By the time I finish this one glass of wine, I feel like I am tripping on acid.
The Wedding-Band amps are feeding back. Speeches are made. Applause. More speeches and applause. And feedback. The sky outside turns black and storm clouds eventually break. Thunder, lightening, violent downpour. As people serve themselves buffet-style, I stare out the nearest window chewing painfully on my lower lip.
Ellie hates storms. Ever the pro, she snoozes thru them, snoring luxuriously beneath our bed among her blanket and toys. But Herman is just so heart-breakingly petrified of thunderstorms. At the slightest rumble, he always makes a beeline for ME. He buries his bony, horsy face in my armpit, whimpering as I stroke his silky ears.
{{{ I’m coming. }}}
* * * * * * * * * *
One thing I can say that works out pretty good – the reception place is just down the road from MARY’S kennel. It’s about two miles away, tops, and this thought keeps me going. I mean, Ellie and Herm just gotta be feeling my supportive vibes throughout this rumbling, storm-fueled afternoon.
Several hours later, I shock myself by how excited and energetic I become as we bid farewell and bon chance` to all the gay nuptial revelry. Nearing sunset, it’s cooler out now. But it’s still uncomfortable – the copious downpour has not done much to improve the general conditions. The car A/C is still not working. Who the hell cares – floor it.
We are still a good city-block away and I can hear Ellie’s bark. It’s definitely her. I know, because she barely ever barks but when she does – THAT’S ELLIE. It’s cloying. It’s harsh. It’s shrill. When Ellie sees fit to bark, it’s because she's being a nag and a shrew. Or scolding me.
Sure enough, as we pull up in the driveway at the kennel, we are greeted by the sight of MARY standing at a side gate and at her feet is Ellie. Leaping. Barking. Extremely hoarse. Eyes flashing at me with panic, indignation and – yes – joy.
Mary shakes her head, calls out to me: “Oboy. She was something else.”
I approach the gate: “Ellie…Ellie…” She won’t stop barking and is trying to literally walk thru the fence to get to me.
It’s then that I hear Herman piping in for the first time, his voluminous bellow coming from around back somewhere:
“Roww… Rroowwwr….. ROOOWWW- RAUUUUUUWWWWWWWRrrrr…..”
Mary: “That’s Herman.”
Me: “Yeah, I hear ‘im!”
Mary: “He’s such a nice fella. Hardly made a sound. Just stood around lookin’ kinda worried all day…” she gestures to Ellie: “But HER…”
I cannot help but crack up because Ellie is being so mental. That poor kid.
Handy-Dude emerges leading a whining, sweetly eager Herman along. Ellie is directly behind, totally dragging MARY (and MARY ain’t no little kid).
I think I had envisioned some kind of big, emotional reunion with these two. Like – in slow motion - I’d kneel down and stretch my arms out, and they’d hurl themselves at me and knock me down backwards and lick my face and we’d laugh and bark and laugh and bark and laugh…
But that didn’t happen. Instead, both dogs charge the front door – yanking right past me and Chris where we stand at the doggy-reception desk. I’m still squaring things away money-wise, so Chris takes both leashes and Ellie and Herm yank him DIRECTLY OUTSIDE TO THE CAR where they PILE IN so fucking fast it could make your head spin. Together they sit, panting like lunatics - side by side in the back seat, where it’s totally over-crowded with too much crap that we haven’t been able to organize properly yet for the big drive home. They are staring straight ahead like zombies and they are not getting out of this car. Never. Not ever again. NO. DAMN. WAY.
So I say good-bye to MARY and Handy-Dude. I tip them handsomely, at which they seem taken aback and reluctant to accept.
Me: “No, no. Thank you for everything. And Mary, I hope your doggy heals up fast.”
Mary: “Me, too. Thank you. Oh, and before I forget…Herman and Ellie…they both seem to be experiencing stomach distress. You may need to watch their diets a little bit.”
I stare at her for a moment, contemplate saying: ““Well, actually, MARY…their diets are quite exceptional if I do say so myself. But I do believe that what they MIGHT be experiencing is actually something called: “It-seems-that-we-have-been-ABANDONED-to-some-sort-of-DOGGY-ASYLUM-and-we-are-so-FREAKED-OUT-about-it-that-it’s-all-we-can-DO-to-SHIT-OUR-BRAINS-OUT-SYNDROME.”
But of course I don’t say that. I just say:
“Okay, thanks MARY! And if anyone I know ever needs a kennel in ALBANY, I will TOTALLY recommend you guys!”
Then I go pile in, too.
And then me, Chris, Ellie and Herman…
We’re all GONE.
* * * * * * * *
One day, once a little more time has passed, I’m gonna get a T-shirt made that sez:
“We Survived Albany.”
* * * * * * *
No comments:
Post a Comment