Sunday, 12:00 p.m.
Truck departs with husband driving. Our cool new (to us) 13’, 1975 Trillium travel trailer is packed to bursting with snack food, fishing equipment and books. Dog wags tail merrily before he settles down for the drive.
1:15 p.m.
Dog makes his way to front seat. He is being extraordinarily affectionate. Must be the whole “family holiday” vibe. We are listening to Prince’s new album. We are a bit groovy if we do say so ourselves.
1:30 p.m.
Dog has oozed his way into my lap. How sweet! He’s never done that before.
1:32 p.m.
Dog has had horrible accident ON ME. That’s right, ON ME! Oh my god! Pull over! Pull over! Help! I’m going to be sick! Dog is very definitely sick. Somebody help. No, you fool. Not somebody giggle helplessly. I said help!
1:50 p.m.
Dog has been cleaned up. I have been somewhat cleaned up. We have used all the bottled water. Trip resumes. There is less of a groovy vibe in the air. It has been replaced by a very distinctive smell.
2:05 p.m.
The smell really has staying power. Husband has stopped giggling and now has a set look on his face. Dog seems fine. Windows all as far open as they can go and as a result my hair is in the early stages of dreadlocks. The smell seems to be coming from every direction. The whole world stinks. Nothing is fun.
4:15 p.m.
Pull into campsite. Ah! Here at last. It’s quite a nice spot. Fronted by ocean and backed by a lovely estuary. Perfect for flyfishing for pink salmon and getting some work done on the new novel. Husband and I exchange pleased pecks on the cheek as we set up camp. We are very happy to be out of the truck. Dog seems fine and also happy to be out of truck.
5:30 p.m.
Neighbors all friendly and the site is nice. But can’t help but notice that the bathrooms are a bit far away. Showers in particular are sketchy. Nasty clumps of hair lurk on the floors under hideously filthy non-slip mats. Oh well, at least we aren’t rabid consumerists driving one of those giant half million dollar RVs like the couple from California beside us. Our little Trillium is just fine thanks, even if it does have shag carpet but no bathroom or TV. Sure, it would be nice not to have to walk half a mile to go to the Ladies, but there is the environment to think of.
6:45 p.m.
Dinner was okay. The pre- marinated “steak” was apparently a road killed animal that had been seasoned by leaving it out in the sun for 3 days. But the potato chips were good. Husband out fishing in his pontoon boat. I’m drinking coffee late at night because nothing keeps me awake when I’m camping! Yay! Dog is fully recovered. Double yay!
2:45 a.m.
Foghorn from lighthouse on nearby island begins to go off every thirty seconds or so. It is keeping me awake.
6:15 a.m.
Awoken an hour after finally getting to sleep by the sound of husband hosing down dog bed. Stumble outside the trailer. Dog is not recovered. Dog is very, very sick. The evidence is all over the truck, where he spent the night on his bed. Throw on some clothes, send husband fishing, telling him I can handle things, load dog into horrifying charnel house of a vehicle. Wonder if dog accidentally got into the pre-marinated “steak”. Wonder if a person could actually die from an odour.
6:55 a.m.
Run into road work on the way into the nearest town. Flag person comes over to tell me about the delay, recoils as he nears the truck. Smell apparently emanating to a distance of just under 10 ft. Hope self and dog don’t die on the way to the vet. This is looking increasingly possible.
7:15 a.m.
Run into hotel. Ask for directions to the local vet’s office. Find out it’s back the way we came. Drive the stink mobile at top speed to the vet’s.
7:35 a.m.
Vet not in yet. Our cell phone, which I don’t actually know how to use, does not appear to be operational. Dog very, very, very sick. Sickeningly sick, in fact. Wonder if I am catching what he has. Don’t feel well at all and am not even anywhere near the truck.
7:55 a.m.
Vet not in yet. No one in yet.
8:15 a.m.
Car pulls up. It is lovely young vet assistant. She is very kind about not saying anything about the smell hanging over dog and me. She is really a consummate professional. Vet won’t be in until 9:30. How nice for vet. Think that James Herriot probably made it in before 9:30.
9:00 a.m.
Lady who works in nearby Humane Society building comes over to say hello. She wishes everyone cared about their pets as much as I obviously do. She is stressed out by her job. She thinks she may be burned out. She’s on call 24 hours a day. With the RCMP! She finds herself crying a lot. Look! She’s crying right now. But, on the plus side, she just bought a motorcycle. A big one. It calms her. She rides it around at night. The phone rings. She goes back inside the Humane Society building. She doesn’t say goodbye. She just walks away. Crying.
9:30 a.m.
Vet ready to see us. Apologizes for the wait. He’s been doing housecalls. What is this? The Yorkshire Dales? Who does housecalls anymore? I should get 10% off for picking up. Or, I guess, dropping off. Vet is very young and nice and sincere. Like his assistant, he is a consummate professional and only winces slightly when I bring dog and dog’s smell into confines of examination room.
9:40 a.m.
Vet agrees dog seems very sick. You can tell by the smell. Goes over a list of possibilities. All of them are serious. We will need blood tests. An I.V. At least one overnight stay. And $420. Dog is led away to be fitted with I.V. and giant plastic hood. He looks how I feel. And the two of us smell pretty much the same.
Get in malodormobile and drive back to campsite to await the verdict…