But with this transport, I didn't have a solitary few hours on the open road. Instead, once the last of our passengers deplaned, it was clean-up time. The land was beautiful, the air was crisp and fresh, and the inside of the van smelled like a hundred puppies had simultaneously pissed, shit, and vomited and then rolled in it. There was no way were driving back to Los Angeles with our chariot in such condition.
At Safe Haven, we made as valiant an attempt two women who haven't slept in close to thirty hours could, to hose down the crates and get as much of the foul debris of our journey out of the van. After only half an hour, we decided perhaps sleep and food were a better option for us at the moment and we would tackle this task shortly after that.
"Breakfast or hotel?" Missy asked me.
I preferred to eat first, that way I could get into the hotel and simply collapse on the bed and go off to dreamland. However, I did have a brief hesitation.
"Well.... that depends. Is there still shit in my hair?" I replied. "Cause I don't know if Denny's serves people will dog poop in their hair."
Missy agreed perhaps a shower first was a better idea, at least given my poor condition. Somewhere in the five mile drive to the hotel though, I stopped giving a shit about shit, and decided I wanted food in my tummy before showering.
"It's not that bad, is it?" I asked Missy before we entered the door to the local diner.
"No, I don't see any--" she started, and then pointed at my pant leg, "--actually you got a little..."
(Sigh.) Sure enough, giant streak of dog poo on my jeans. Yay. Luckily I was at that point of exhaustion between not caring and finding the entire situation uproariously funny.
"Guess I can't move to this town now," I pointed out.
Missy and I barely stayed awake long enough to consume our meals, although Missy had fun relaying the tales of dog excrement to our Los Angeles coordinators, and I enjoyed hearing the stories from an outsider's perspective.
Before entering the hotel, I decided to transfer one of the store-bought bottled waters into my own plastic water bottle so I'd have something to drink inside the hotel toom. As I stepped out of the van, I looked down and realized that perhaps refilling the bottle on my lap was not the best of ideas. Walking into a hotel with a streak of poop on my knee, dried pee on my pantleg, possible shit in my hair, and now a brand new water stain on my crotch, I was one classy travellin' lady.
A longer than usual shower cleaned up the effects of my messy adventures of dog rescue, and I happily passed out on the hotel bed around 4:00 p.m. Missy and I had no real plan of when we were to get up, but I had really wanted to stop by Luv-a-Bull, the sanctuary that had taken in many of Missy's dogs. I had been hearing what a beautiful property it was, and that Liesl, the owner, takes the dogs out running each and every morning on the 55 acre property. I had to see this little slice of heaven.
Missy woke me up at 9:30 p.m., which is unfortunate because Missy didn't know that no one should attempt communication with me until at least an hour after my coffee. So, Missy got Crankypants, not Stephanie, to discuss our plans for the next day and for that moment. Two hours later, in order to accommodate everything we wanted and needed to do, the plan was set: 4:30 a.m., meet outside room, take the van to carwash and really clean crates and van (estimate an hour to do so), forty-five minute breakfast, then hit the road by 6:30 or 7:00 a.m. I wanted to go to Luv-a-Bull, and Missy needed to pick up some furniture in Eugene, so we should still be able to get back to LA before 10:00 p.m.
We were new people when we stepped outside our hotel rooms at 4:30 in the morning. Clean, fresh clothes, washed hair, and without the stink of puppy poo on us, we were ready to start our day. Moments later, we opened up the doors to the van, and the stale smell of dog piss made us wonder just how bad we smelled the day before. With windows rolled all the way down, we headed straight for the car wash.
Beginnings, especially of life, are messy affairs. It ain't pretty at all. So it's really no surprise that this new beginning for the dogs was just as messy. The white van had puddles of yellow slowly drying, and the crates were caked with solids, liquids, and stenches one could not even imagine. The blankets and towels were unsalvageable; we were not riding 800 miles with those in the back, even in trashbags.
Our early morning rise and clean-up was well-rewarded. The stench in the van was hardly noticeable, and our drive back down to Eugene was a pleasant ride where we could take in the sights, now that our focus wasn't on the 51 canine passengers.
Liesl had said she usually returned from running with the dogs at 10:00 a.m. However, we were a bit early, and she was fine to meet up with us. Following her instructions to her place, I was in awe of the landscape. The deep caverns and mountains were dramatic. The land was stunning.
It was as if someone had taken my little New England town and pushed the mountains up higher and valleys down lower and made the greens greener, and the country more rustic. I was in love.
We drove down the dirt drive to Liesl's place, and as we came to a stop in the roundabout driveway, my eyes filled with tears.
I felt like I was a visitor in an alternate universe version of my life. A cottage was off to the right, which Liesl rents out for income.
Her house sat in the back, overlooking the gorgeous mountains.
The dogs had their own cottages and kennels, envisioned, designed, and built by her. The dogs had rooms, not cages.
They had couches and chairs, and windows to which to look out. Even Simon was at home in his new digs, looking out the window at us.
The dogs had a deck out back and a staircase that led to a second floor loft for indoor romping and playing.
And of course, there was the fifty-five acres for romping and playing as well.
After Liesl showed us around, we got to check in on those pups whose new life began now. Our passengers, Missy's fosters, were in their own room together in one of the cottages. They came out and ran around the fenced in yard area.
How close these little ones had come to losing their lives, and now there's nothing but a bright future that lay ahead for them.
We only stayed a brief time, as Liesl had her own brand new day to begin. It was just her and the dogs, and hopefully a few volunteers were on their way. Along the tree-lined roads, I spotted a real estate sign at the edge of a drive. I asked Missy to stop, and I hopped out to grab a brochure. It didn't list a price, but it did list a few other properties in the area.
As we drove south on I-5, back down past the Rogue River, and the Shakespeare Festival in Ashland, Oregon, I was content in my travels.
All these years I had been trying to learn how to allow the universe to guide me. I occasionally falter, but I'd like to think that for the most part, I am driven by that little voice called gut instinct, which might very well come from out in the ether, not from within.
Many people in dog rescue will tell you that they're not saving dogs; the dogs are saving them, over and over again. I believe it’s a bit of both; for saving their lives, they save ours. For me, as I drive along the highways and byways of America, it's not me driving these dogs home; it's the dogs leading me on new adventures, and showing me how much fun it is to let the universe by my guide.
Oregon: the place I had longed to see for half my life. Maybe I will live there one day. Will I have my own rescue? Probably not. Luv-a-Bull is my alternate life. The life I lead now is not one of a sanctuary in the mountains; it is a life led by homeless canines, who wish to show me how much life has to offer in every second chance on the open road.
I wish those 51 dogs a beautiful new life in this gorgeous state of mountains and valleys. I thank them for leading me here finally, to catch a glimpse of a life that could have been, and a life that might possibly still be. The future is the open road for me; there might be traffic jams, there might be clear sailing, but there will always be beautiful vistas to behold, and strangers who become friends, and crossroads to which goodbyes must be spoken and hello's are welcomed.
To the dogs who led me up the Oregon Trail, I thank you. I will be back again, although I'm not sure when and for how long. One thing is for certain though: I may at times ignore the signs of the universe to guide me, but I will never deny a hitchhiking canine. Which seems to work out well for me, for just like the universe, the dogs have never led me astray.
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