Hurricane Dog(s)

"Dogs change lives. 

Half Buddha, half Bozo, they keep us tethered to the earth and teach us to fly. 

Our dogs are our sanity keepers. "

Pam Houston

Sanity Keepers #1 and #2

Note: I've lost all track of time. This post was written right after Armageddon. I've no Internet service until today. I tried posting from Barnes and Noble only to find out nothing posted - words or photos. It was time to start over in a different frame of mind. Here goes:

Hurricane Irma began her destruction of state of Florida last Saturday. By Sunday evening we were beginning to feel the effects of teeming rainfall combined with wind gusts over 50 mph. Sheets of plywood covering the windows and doors didn’t do much to muffle the sound of battering winds. For awhile even the tree frogs' songs were drowned out. The electricity flickered on and off then, with a loud kaboom, a transformer blew somewhere nearby. We were plunged into darkness. 

When Irma left us to wreak havoc on Georgia we peeked out to survey the damage. Unlike Noah on the top of Mt. Ararat, there was no rainbow. For as far as we could see, tree limbs and Spanish moss littered the lawns and streets. A few blocks away the top of a large, hundred year old oak tree lay sprawled across the street, blocking entry and exit to our neighborhood. Electrical wires wrapped around and through its branches like Christmas lights without the colored bulbs. Thankfully we had a generator running nonstop to keep the refrigerator and freezer cold. Despite the yard debris the pool entertained the dogs and kept them cool.  By Wednesday afternoon I’d lived without electricity, hot water and cold Coke long enough. Let it be said here and now, I am no smiling Laura Ingalls Wilder able to withstand any of the fury Mother Nature threw at her. I am no Pollyanna able to find a kaleidoscopic sunny spot in dark clouds. When I discovered cat pee on my pillow, I cried “Uncle.” (Actually I cried something else.) Jack and I headed for the nearest Hampton Inn, leaving behind John, the dogs, the cats, and an army of electricians, linemen, and guys with chain saws to restore our power. 

A hot shower and air conditioning never felt so good. We turned on the TV for the first time in days to news broadcasts of demolished Caribbean Islands and a battered Cuba. Key West, Miami, and Naples look like war zones. Roads and boats and trees and houses are blown to bits. St. John River water and ocean surges caused unprecedented floods in my hometown. The water is receding to reveal what can only be called a big fat mess. I'm a whiner, but feel truly grateful to live on high ground.

But this is not a story about storms and floods. It’s a story about a crazy cancer dog who in her short life time has lived through TS Beryl (May 2012), Superstorm Sandy, (Oct. 2012), Hurricane Joaquin (Oct. 2015), TS Julia (Sept 2016), Hurricane Matthew (Sept. 2016) and now Irmageddon. For all her anxiety she knows how to weather a storm. In the past John took Maizey to the beach to see the really, big waves. This time he wisely he decided against it. So instead of chasing big puffs of stinky wind swept foam, Maizey, like me, took a lot of naps.  Except when John fed the baby squirrels. 

During the first day of clean up, John discovered a nest of 3 baby squirrels upside down in our neighbor’s yard, near a dangling electrical line. He literally saved two more babies from the jaws of another neighbor’s cat who no doubt thought God had reached down and handed him with dinner. With no parents in sight a cat carrier and shoe box became temporary homes. John, Maizey and Buddy became instant foster parents. Maizey was a little confused at first. If it looks like a squirrel and smells like a squirrel, it must be a squirrel, right? And who is the best squirrel chaser in Duval County? Why was John holding these squirrels in his hand? Having read Are You My Mother enough times I waited for the tiniest baby to open and lock his eyes on John and immediately cry “Daddy!” Luckily, Merrill Road Animal Hospital took the babies so Aunt Maizey could relax. 

Quietly and without any fanfare, it appears the "Hurricane Dog" torch passed from Maizey to Buddy. Anytime John stepped outside, Buddy followed. No rain or flying branches could keep him out of the pool. Maizey watched his antics from the safety of the garage door, steadfastly refusing Buddy's “come on, what’s a little rain” jeers. When she could no longer hold it, John coaxed her outside by holding up an umbrella so she could run outside, pee and run back in without getting drenched. Maizey only ventured outside when she determined the storm was long gone. At that point she went to work. She checked the pool and yard for the frogs, snakes and turtles that took refuge in our bushes. She dueled with the pool net, which only she sees as a threat. Under the influence of Tramadol, Maizey proved to Buddy she still has some spunk left in her. 

This has been a ten days. Things have kind of returned to normal. Hurricane season doesn't officially end until November 1. I'm not sure how huge cyclones of air and rain know when the calendar changes. I do know that the next time I hear a named storm (Maria?) sets her eyes on Florida, I'm not sticking around. Something tells me Maizey will be riding shotgun!

PS.  Thanks to all the people who helped during this storm. The governor and mayor and news people did a good job of creating enough hysteria to get people evacuated in a timely manner. First responders rescued people who didn't expect the river to overflow its banks. Animal rescuers and Lost Pets of Jacksonville did (and are doing) a remarkable job of rounding up lost and stranded pets, horse, and cows and keeping them safe. And thanks to the man who spent his son's third birthday fixing cable lines so people like me could quit complaining about the inconvenience of no Internet. Sadly, I know people who are still without electricity or cable service. There is a special place in heaven for non-complainers.