I replied to a posting on Thursday night about a Chihuahua mix that needed to get from Bakersfield to San Clemente, CA. I offered to do Bakersfield to Burbank if someone could do the other half from Burbank to San Clemente. Within moments, thanks to instant email these days, it was settled. I would pick up this nameless terrified pup from Kern County Friday morning, hold her overnight, and then another transporter would pick her up at my place at 9:30 Saturday morning and drive her to her foster home in San Clemente.
I read somewhere that Canines are the most diverse species of animal on the planet. Even if it isn't officially true, it sure seems that way, that both Mickey and this little mutt are members of the same species. I wanted a change of pace. I hadn't had a wee little dog since Newton and Cheyenne, so I was looking forward to a dog I could pick up and hold. I don't have a preference really; neither one is better than the other.
I had heard that Kern County is one of the roughest shelters in the area. Mainly it's just not frequented, so many animals are euthanized. I wanted to see what conditions were like, take a little tour, before officially picking her up. But I was so thrown by the location that I didn't.
I parked in the small parking area that was like a dirt strip mall parking lot area. What I thought was the entrance stated Redemptions and Licenses only, and gave directions to the Adoption Center. It said one could either drive behind the building to get there, or walk across the lawn. Against Los Angeles nature, I walked.
I was expecting an Adoption Center (since those were the words used on the sign), and having been to places like San Diego Humane Society, I thought a reception area some nice artwork, something like that would be what I encountered. But instead I thought I had accidently arrived at the animal control offices: two animal control officers behind two desks in a small room with a few stacked cages/crates with a couple of tiny dogs in them. A door beyond the desks led to the kennels. I was so confused I asked, "Is there where I come to pick up a dog? She's been pulled by a rescue. I'm only transporting."
I was indeed in the right place, so I sat down at the desk and failed to go in the back. The animal control officer was very nice and despite a few hiccups in finding all the necessary info for me to take her, it was done quickly and without too much trouble. She asked if I wanted to go back and see her before taking her, but I thought it odd and refused before mentally berating myself that this would have been when I could have gone back to see!
Moments later the officer returned with dog in hand--literally. Chihuahuas shake all the time, but this was quite a tremble the little girl had going on. I took her from the officer, commenting how cute she was, but I didn't get see much of her face as she buried it into my chest, trying to deny the reality around her.
Putting a harness on a pit bull is an quite an undertaking as not only can they be energetic but also have the shear force of their weight to complicate matters. This little girl, as much as she was trying to use gravity to suck herself into my chest, didn't fight as I unglued her enough from me to get the harness on. Once outside I set her down on the lawn to pee and she just stood there, frozen, blinking into the sunlight. After a few moments of stillness I realized she wasn't going to move let alone pee, so I picked her back up, hoped she had peed recently enough to last the hour and half home, and brought her to my truck.
I attached the tether to her harness, but she really didn't want the vast passenger seat all to herself. After climbing up over the console, I couldn't resist the sad little face, and allowed her to sit on my lap (which is probably against the law). She was tiny, and not in the way of my steering range, until she felt it most comfortable to rest her head in the hole in the steering wheel. I wouldn't be making any tight turns, but it's not terribly safe either. Each time her neck went out to stick her head through, I gently moved it back to my lap area.
I could tell she wasn't completely terrified and shut down. She had a healthy curiosity and could express herself with her expansive ear movements. When I turned on the GPS, her ears went up, her head cocked, to hear what it had to say. And by the time I hit the 99/5 interchange, she was sitting up on my lap, trying to see through the windshield.
Twenty minutes from my place as she sat on my lap, I saw her start to lurch, that neck lurch that is the predecessor to only one thing: vomiting. While still driving, I pulled the towel from the passenger seat and tried to get it between her face and my pants. Just as I thought I had it in the right place, she puked. A lot. In fact, I'm not convinced it all came from inside her. Perhaps another dimension opened up and spewed out liters of Alpo.
I pulled over when I saw a safe stretch and big enough break down lane to assess the damage and see how she was. Some of it had landed on the towel as I had attempted to make happen, but a good amount was on my pants too. I grabbed the water bowl and she greedily drank it up while I tried to ignore the stench of half-digested dog food that now permeated the vehicle.
When she finished drinking I pulled back onto the highway. I guess that's the problem with picking up dogs in the morning: she had just eaten. Although I thought by 11am, it would have been safe.
She still sat in the same place as we continued on, so I thought she was over it. I think dogs are better at rebounding from barfing from humans--or at least they're better than me. But as I took the final turn onto my street, I heard the noise then felt the wetness. This time it was the water and any remaining dogfood that had missed the first flight out. I looked down at the sopping dogfood mess on my pants, my jacket, the seat, on her paws, on the floormat, in between the seat and console... It was astounding. Water really does make solids expand.
I parked, surveyed the damage from where I sat and came up with the best plan of attack. I got out holding her, and rinsed her white paws off with water from my water bottle. I dried them off with the towel. I set her on the ground, but it was difficult to not scare her every time I splashed water on my pants and jacket to get the puke off. Finally I picked her up and placed her on the passenger seat. She watched me for a brief moment as I had the door open and was aiming my water bottle on my pants. Then she sighed and lay down in the sunlight on the seat. Sure, now she's content to sleep on the seat.
In fact, she was so content to sleep on the seat, that she had no qualms about me closing the door, picking up the towels and jacket along with soiled paper towels I had been cleaning with and walking away. I didn't even rush. I put the laundry in my apartment and threw the paper towels out, and when I returned she was sitting very lady-like and perfectly calm on the passenger seat.
It had to happen eventually, so boom, it happened. I'm glad it was with a tiny dog such as this. My goodness, if Mickey had thrown up in the car, I'd still be shoveling it out to this day, and be smelling it for eternity.
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