D. Caroline Coile, Ph.D.
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My Accident, Part 2, or Homeless on I-10 With Three Salukis and a Camera Battery

11/29/2011

11 Comments

 
Picture
When our story left off, Caroline and dogs (Omen, Prophet and Luna) had just survived flipping her van...that's the inside of the van above (after the accident---it was actually significantly neater before). The dogs were riding on the bed where all the cabinets are now lying. Note that I could no longer camp in it comfortably, what with the windows being blown out. And it being kind of messy. And in a junkyard.

We now resume our story:

Part 2:

The van is on its side, being sprayed by the firemen. We are directed to the fire truck. I have as possessions now three salukis and a camera battery (which for some reason somebody handed to me after they found it on the Interstate). They ask if I will need anything else, and I'm thinking, yes.

I make a quick mental list of what I need  to survive for a day and come up with purse, dog food, glasses, cell phone.  After the van is righted somebody fishes through it and hands me a small  canister of dog treats and my dog grooming bag. This is not what I would have
chosen. But now I own three salukis, a camera battery, dog treats, and dog  grooming essentials. Thank God the dogs will look good. I do finally locate my glasses  (broken) and cell phone (dead) myself. Now I am set.

I bundle them together and we ride in the fire truck until they hand us over to the wrecking truck guy with the van on a flatbed. I see the new hot pink show lead I'd just bought hanging from the van's outside mirror. I snatch it and add it to my loot. Definitely set now.

The tow truck driver takes us to a motel---no vacancy---and another---no vacancy---and we discover every motel in town is full because of the recent hurricane. The driver makes a deal to get an abandoned truck towed from a motel lot in exchange for letting me stay at a condemned motel in an "adventurous" part of town. Only when they discover I have dogs the motel operators are not so wild about letting me stay in their palace, even when I metion I will be staying an entire night, not just by the hourly rates. They demand a big deposit, which they state they will keep if the dogs get on the bed.

I offer the tow truck driver $20 to take us to Wal-Mart and park with the dogs for 15 minutes while I get stuff.  The dog grooming bag turns out to be a life saver. In it is the sweepstakes money we just won, so I have cash to pay him. Also my credit card, because I had done some shopping at the vendor booths before I left the shows. 

I run through the Wal-Mart snatching things from shelves: dog beds (I figure this will at least look like
I'm not letting the dogs on the bed), a sheet for the bed once dogs get on it, cans of pop-top dog food, paper bowls, milk bones and a phone charger. Food for
me: Somehow a good diet seemed like it would be Crunch n Munch, peanut brittle, bananas, apple and Pringles. This may have been the first sign I may have had a concussion.

The second, and most definitive sign I was concussed, however, was in my choice of clothes to replace the bloody ones I was wearing. I somehow thought a lime green shirt with purple shorts would be particularly fetching, not realizing that I would look like a Barney clone once I put it on. I would wear the Barney outfit night and day for the next four days. 

Back at the motel room, I discover it is aimed at people who must be very concerned of their appearance, as there are low mirrors on three  sides of the bed plus one above it on the ceiling. Omen is fascinated by the
ceiling one.

I discover my appearance is frightening, as my hair is stiff with a solid mat of dried blood, and the back of my shirt is much bloodier than the front. Yet nobody let me cut in line at Wal Mart?

The other motel inhabitants are roofers who are busy dropping anvils on the roof above us all day. And are those gunshots once the sun goes down? Of course the dogs wait until 2 AM and 4 AM to just really HAVE to go out. There is more foot traffic out and about at this
time than there was when it was light. I discover my dogs are actually protective as we are approached by shadowy figures lurching down the roadway. Until they get close, then they just want to be petted by muggers.
Did I mention my door did not seem to have a lock? I try the chair-against-the-door-knob as seen on TV.

We're all going to die.

Yet we survive. The next morning begins the HUNT FOR A RENTAL CAR. After being led on by Enterprise (repeat
after me: Enterprise SUCKS) they finally say they don't rent to people with dogs. They take three hours to reveal
this, and I am being evicted from my motel room at 11 AM. The motel reluctantly agrees to let me stay another hour for $10 (below their normal hourly rate, they assure me). 

Hour's up. Still no car. And the motel is banging on my door. I am homeless. I am wondering how I will look standing by the road with my salukis and Wal-Mart baggies and dog beds. Eventually they agree I can stay another night. 

Finally I find a car in the next town (Hertz = good). Fellow salukite Cindy Najera, AKA the best person in the world, is on her way from Houston area to help, and she
takes us to get the car. We hide the dogs in her van, just in case they've been talking to Enterprise. We score! A rental car is mine! But now it is dark.

Cindy says I am not allowed to stay in the room by
myself.  She spends the night at the scary motel with me!  She is obviously impressed by the mirrors, which is probably why she wanted to stay. We get to eat my first non-peanut-brittle meal in almost two days: Taco Bell, nectar of the gods! Life is good. The next morning, Omen tries to bury Cindy's face in her pillow, his way of saying thanks.

Next morning we find my van's graveyard. I recall the propane is still own---something it would have been nice to remember before sitting in the shadow of the wrecked van on the interstate (there was no other shade and it was Texas in October) or letting the firemen and wrecking guys near it, but oh well, it didn't blow up, and all's well that end's well. I turn off the propane--and geez, the tow truck guy didn't have to look so stricken when I pointed it out. Like I said, it's not like it blew up or anything), go through it and salvage lots of stuff, Cindy takes pictures, we say goodbye, and I'm on my way home.

Note: New minivans have a door behind the driver that can open mysteriously, like when you are in the Taco Bell (nectar of the gods---yes, I know I said that but it bears repeating) parking lot for lunch, and people start yelling and pointing and that's when you happen to see your puppy sauntering toward the highway because the back door has taken it upon itself to pen. Apparently hitting random buttons on the key thing does this. But to continue...

Fall out of car yelling, try to get door closed so other dogs don't follow, run toward the six lane highway where Luna is now trotting between cars stopped at the light, peering in windows (a "friend" would later claim she was looking for a better driver. Yeah, haha, that's funny.)  I'm running, I'm freaking, I'm calling, the light turns green...and every car stays stopped. They wait for the crazy person in the Barney outfit to catch the skinny dog before going--- a few drivers even wave (hey, it IS cheap entertainment). I make it back to the minivan and try to prevent myself from retching. Order comfort food (which is pretty much anything from Taco Bell).

Put leashes on dogs and hold them tight as I drive because who knows, maybe these doors can open when you're driving down the Interstate. Talk to somebody and find out no, that won't happen unless you hit the key thing when it's stopped. Make a note to self that I need a more modern car.

Stop again at Taco Bell for dinner. I deserve it. Keep fingers away from key thing.

That night at the motel half-way home, I trip over a parking lot thing, fall flat on my face and people think I am drunk. I would have to be, after all, to be dressed like Barney. This accident hurts more than the car
wreck. But the motel has only one mirror, and the door locks, so things are looking up.

The next morning I am freezing in my Barney outfit. I
try to stand next to a pine tree for cover from the wind, and of course ended up standing in a fire ant bed. I dance around a lot. I am pretty sure the same people from the might before were the ones staring.

I make it home.  Can't wait for the shows this weekend!

11 Comments

My Accident, or How to Flip a Van Without Really Trying

11/28/2011

4 Comments

 
Picture
With two columns and two articles due this week, I'm having to resort to anoter re-run. This happened several years ago, right after Hurricane Katrina, when we were on our way home from dog shows in Houston. This was my e-mail account:

***Part 1***
I'm back, sore, but dogs and I are basically OK. Omen got the worst of it. Here is the story of when a dog show trip goes bad: 
 
I'm on a long stretch of I-10 east of Houston where they are doing work. There are two lanes, with a concrete barricade to the left and no shoulder to the right. I
am driving my big class B camping van. The dogs are loose because it was just too much hassle to set the crates back up, and besides, they hate being crated. They are lounging on the bed in the back. I am actually paying close attention to traffic. 
  
I hear a little screech and then see right beside me a black car climbing the concrete barricade.-- /interesting/oh shit-bad-swerve/
--so I try to swerve but no time it's ricocheting toward me WHAM!!! It smacks me real hard and real loud up front on the driver's side, hurtling me off the road onto the grass and dirt, toward a ditch and then a temporary off-ramp embankment that's built up high. --/must avoid bank/might roll/take it easy/-- I actually get it back on the road, but have overcorrected and am now swerving too much --/still a chance you can straighten it/--- WHAM!! We are hit hard and loud again, this time in the
rear driver's side, and we are now spun at right angles to the road way and going at 65 mph straight into the concrete wall --/"Oh NO!"  (I actually did yell this out loud) /small chance I will live/no chance the dogs will live/I'm sorry dogs/---  WHAM!!!! We hit the wall (this is a really hard jolt in case you are wondering) and now we are going up in the air and rolling to our right, and I see us going over the concrete wall and we are upside down and then WHAM!!! We hit the ground and we are rolling and rolling and rolling and rolling ---/hold on tight/ride it out/sparks/so this is what it's like/ --- unbelievably noisy and bumpy and we are flying upside down and all around and now we have finally stopped and the noise changes to a high shriek as we are sliding and spinning and spinning and sliding and then just sliding on the driver's side and I can see the dotted line going by right next to my face so I know we are in the middle of the interstate, the windshield is too cracked to see out of, and we finally stop, and I wait to be hit by oncoming
traffic, and I am terrified at this thought, and I brace for the impact, but nothing comes.

 And then I see dog legs standing over my head. Somebody is alive! Omen! Then gold legs join him. Prophet! Then little cream legs! Luna! All three dogs are standing on my head. I grab them all, I don't know how much of the rear of the van is left, and I think if I let them go they may bolt away. I know I can't actually hold three dog legs with two hands, but I try. I realize the van is filling with smoke---the engine is stuck on full throttle and I have to let go of the dogs to try to reach the ignition. I talk to them a while to tell them it's OK, trying to calm them, but the longer I wait the smokier it's getting. I tell them to stay and let go of them and try to reach the ignition and can't because of my seat belt. I can't get the seat belt off because I am hanging from it. I wedge myself up, get the belt off, pull myself up by the steering wheel and dig around through debris and find the ignition and turn it off. Now I see the shadow of people legs outside the windshield, hear voices. They are trying to pull the windshield the rest of the way off. I yell
for them to stop. I tell them I have three dogs that may bolt and I need to get them on leashes first. They seem to understand, but I keep repeating it. I can't find the leashes because it's a mess everywhere-there were six leashes hanging by the door before the crash. I find one, put it on Luna. Find another, get it on Omen.  The people are not waiting now---they obviously think I am delirious---and they are pulling off the windshield. I hand out Luna, telling them to hold the dogs tight, then Omen, can't find a leash for Prophet, am on my way out with him by the collar then I spot a leash caught beneath the debris and pull it out. 
  
I see we are all pretty much fine. Prophet has a small cut under his eye. Omen has some bloody feet (later I realize he has more damage, but X-rays show it to be just bruising rather than cracked ribs). Luna is unscathed. She wants to do it again. An amusement park ride, people to pet her---what coudl be better?

Somebody mentions I have blood gushing out of my head but it feels fine to me. They tell me I am too calm so must be in shock.

Police and fire trucks arrive. Traffic is routed off the Interstate. People gawk. The paramedics arrive and want to take me to the hospital but they say the dogs will have to go to the pound. The animal control truck pulls up to load them in. I say no. Then later they say dogs will have to ride in animal control truck anyway. I say surely they have a vehicle with a back seat they can ride in. What about a police car? They confer, and decide that even though the dogs are the wrong breed, we can all ride in the really big fire truck...

TBC
 
4 Comments

A Day in the Life, or How E-Mail is Not Your Best Friend

11/7/2011

3 Comments

 
Back in 2004, a question came up on the Dogwriters' list about how writers manage their time. Being a pro, and always willing to share my knowledge with others (and having other actual real and pressing deadlines) I of course responded. I was reminded of it as I was writing my column today. Looking over it, not much has changed, except that you should now replace the phrase "spider solitaire" with "facebook."


6:30--- wake up. Get ready for busy day.
6:31--- check e-mail
7:00--- feed dogs, eat breakfast
7:45---check e-mail
8:00--- walk dogs
9:15---return, check e-mail, answer saved e-mails
10:00---write
10:02---time for spider solitaire
10:25---check e-mail
10:30---writing seriously now
10:45---walk around house randomly
19:50---get snack
11:00---check e-mail
11:05---write
11:30---play with dogs
11:45--uh-oh, almost lunch time, better buckle down 
11:46---check e-mail 
11:50--write 
12:30--check regular mail 
12:45--back from checking mail (too early, not there), better write something
1:15--check regular mail again---it's here!
1:30---lunch!!!!!!!
2:00---write, damn it!
2:01---check e-mail
2:05---writing for real now
3:30---fix dogs'dinners
4:00---check e-mail
4:10---this is all I've written today??? Start writing for real 
4:40---chack e-mail; vow to stop checking e-mail
4:41---spider solitaire
5:00---check e-mail 
5:30 walk dogs
6:15---dinner 
6:45--practice dog agility 
7:00---check e-mail 
7:05--writing scared now 
7:24---answer e-mail describing how I waste time on a typical day (check e-mail for responses approximately once every five minutes for rest of night) 
10:45---spider solitaire, give out dog treats for tricks 
11:00--read novel, go to bed, vow tomorrow will be different. Get ready for a busy day...

3 Comments

    Caroline Coile

    Dog writer, science geek, Saluki savant and communicator of all things dog. I'm concerned about hereditary health problems,  the decline of purebred dogs and the changing climate of dog ownership. I compete with my Salukis in conformation, agility, lure coursing and obedience. I write about science, breeds, health and competitions---and I don't believe in blindly folllowing the accepted dogma of the dog world.

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