My car is still in for repairs — to the tune of R65 000.00 and change. As mentioned before, VW Caddy’s are not designed for plowing fields.
Well, you live and learn new things each and every day.
I found out my dog Parker gets violently car sick.
How did I find this out? You may ask. On the R300, like you do.
I was driving to Pringle Bay – I decided to take the dogs along, because the kids were not with me. And because I am scared of the dark, and my dogs make me feel better when I am faced with a large wall of blackness.
Any the ho. I thought this would be a nice leisurely drive. I would stop along Clarens Drive and take selfies of me and the dogs, you know doing cool stuff. That is how I imagined it.
Reality unfortunately did not receive the memo.
FORTUNATELY. I had placed blankets on the back seat of the car (the hired car) and I put the dogs in and off we went. I knew something was a bit off when Dexter jumped into the front seat with a look of suprise on his face. He is a Boston Terrier – guy has huge freaking eyes, for him to look more surprised you must know something big is going on.
I look at the back seat and Parker – the French Bulldog – has evacuated his bowels, and is now proceeding to try to empty everything out of his body cavity via his mouth. Onto the back seat of the rental car.
Of course I am swearing like a drunken sailor —- and it leaves me no choice but to swerve controllably from the right hand land across three lanes and come to a halt on the side of the road.
I do not wish to knock anyone who has real estate anywhere along or near the R300, but shall I say that of all the places you want to stop your car – alone – the R300 is seldom a good choice.
Which probably explains why they do not have those concrete picnic tables and chairs that were ché cool in 1984.
I turn the engine off, and try to assess the damage.
The damage is a large amount of runny shit and a fair amount of dog vomit, which is only being exasperated by the fact that he is now lying in it.
Cheese and rice. I try and scoop up what I can —- yes we have all scooped up shit and puke, don’t act like you have never had to catch some from your child …this is similiar, it is just a dog and in my car.
I then realise I need to grab a plastic bag from the boot as I need somewhere to safely store the now shit soaked blankets. I get out the car, careful to only open the door a fraction because the traffic is barrelling down on me.
A fraction is pretty much all Dexter needs to exit the vehicle and go and stand in the lane of the oncoming traffic.
Fortunatey – because it could not get much worse, he froze and just stood there. As I would have done had three lanes of traffic being headed to me at speeds in excess of 120 km/h.
The way I solved the problem was to flap my hands around hysterically – not dissimiliar to how they do JAZZ HANDS in fancy dance routines. I also screamed MY DOG, MY FUCKING DOG, DON’T KILL MY DOG …… I am not sure what helped, the screaming, my hysteria, my improvised dance routine or the rather large eyes of Dexter, but traffic managed for the most part to try and swerve around him.
I eventually sat on the tar and tried to coax him OUT OF THE THREE LANE HIGHWAY. How the hell that dog got out of there and was not killed, or me killed is still a mystery.
Get dog in car. Have a small yet powerful crying jag.
Go to the boot, get plastic bags – get back into car vacillating between screaming at Dexter for being so stupid, and then kissing him and telling him I am so grateful he is alive all whilst trying to cram shit covered, and now dripping puke, blankets into the now what seem like really small plastic bags.
Just as I am really up to the my elbows in all things chaos, three police vehicles pull over. These guys climb out armed to the hilt. I had a vague sense they were expecting more than a hysterical woman in a car and two dogs.
He knocks on the window. I can’t hear what he is saying as the traffic is so noisy. I am still a bit hysterical, and I cannot work out how to get the rental vehicle’s passenger side vehicle to roll down.
I have no idea what this guys assessment of the situation must have been — my guess is he was radioing in for backup, or at least some sort of sanitary control vehicle.
I eventually find the go down window button —- now bearing in mind I am still moving between crying, laughing with happiness and retching —- I am trying to say “I am fine” and I have huge panda eyes of mascara and no doubt a bit of shit on my shirt too.
He does not look convinced. He leans over and says “Ma’am are you okay?”
Me: Yes ….. I had a bit of a dog incident….
Him: You know you shouldn’t park here …
Me: *glancing around at my surroundings as if I had just noticed I was not parked in the scenic part of town” … yes, I know, my dog just shat himself and puked, and then the other one nearly got run over in the road …….
Him: *possibly removing the safety off his gun* …. are you okay?
Me: Yes …. dogs you know …. *I sort of shrugged like that would make sense*
Him: *leans over and looks at the dogs* ….. do you need any help?
I am wondering then if it would be okay to ask the nice policeman to help me clean shit and puke of the car seats ….. my guess is his idea of public service is not going to go that far…
I eventually compose myself —- try to appear like I can control a vehicle and two dogs, and merge back into the traffic.
Parker then continued to puke the entire way to Pringle Bay. Eventually he was not puking so much as trying to disengage his liver and spleen.
It is really difficult for a French Bulldog to look sad — but Parker looked like death.
Clearly I did not do any selfies, no stops along Clarens Drive — and now I need to get a full valet before I return the rental car.
Otherwise it was a really lovely drive.