When a car as heavy as my Cadillac begins to rock and roll, I knew my evening's visits would have an elevated risk of danger. The hurricane was coming and I had half dozen individual dogs home alone. All local veterinarians had filled up the day before, as this coastal low land began its emergency preparations. The Governor had already briefed senior administration, the local military bases were on high alert. Gas stations were closed for lack of fuel.
This scenario is frequent here, and those of us who have been through the few category three and higher hurricanes since 1999, know the routine. Sometimes, we heed the warnings, other times, unexpected life events throw us a curve ball. This time I had the catcher's mitt.
I had been mentally preparing and making alternate plans; if necessary I would bring the animals to my house, which I knew was fortified against the predicted 130 miles per hour wind. Thankfully, I had my husband home and he agreed to drive me. Not driving gave me much needed focus. I was on the phone constantly with my clients, trying to reassure them their companions would be safe.
The storm's imminent approach had vacated most of the coastal area. Law enforcement was posted at designated mileposts, advising drivers to turn back. I couldn't turn back and with my driver as determined as I was, we left the house around 9 p. m. The route was not complicated, there were no back roads to navigate. We were hopeful that any downed trees would not block our path.
By the time we backed out of our driveway, leaving our own animals in interior windowless rooms,
rain was sheeting against the windshield. The wind was clocked at 85 mph. We were both layered
in weatherproof gear, had multiple flashlights, kennels, towels, and blankets piled in the back seat.
The animals were terrified, their owners the same. I was not terrified, I was determined. My husband was retired US Navy, well trained and steely calm.
Entry into my customers' homes required both of us. The dogs and one cat were under furniture,
in spaces too small to accommodate them. The cat was as high above the kitchen cabinets as she could get and reaching for her took acrobatic effort. I had bloody evidence on both hands for weeks.
Clean up detail would have to wait until the storm subsided. I managed to wipe what I could see.
I was explaining to my husband where he could find food, and make sure water bowls were available and full. We walked through the houses checking windows and doors. I made sure all weapons were
stored and locked. Garage doors were locked and alarms were reset. I left contact information taped to the inside of the front door (in ziplock baggies) for emergency personnel, just in case.
Leaving the distressed animals was not what I wanted to do. It was not my call. Owners would keep
me posted and I would be back before dawn, providing I could get back.
I didn't sleep. I sat up with my own lap full of shaking dogs, listening to nature's screams. The phone
rang with frantic clients. I couldn't tell them what was happening at their house. I was at my house.
Dawn came, relative calm returned with winds topping 50 mph and I was able to make another round, passing the Waffle Houses, which were the only businesses open for miles.
Dogs are amazingly resilient. Cats are not. Cats do not forgive interruption to their daily routines.
They pout. As was the case of the single feline during this unforgiving assault by Mother Nature.
For the few days following, she remained hidden. I never did ask her family where they found her.
All I knew, was the cat box hinted that she was okay.
While the power company, waste and debris removal teams, FEMA crews and city emergency personnel surveyed the damage, I continued my rounds, grateful for the trust of my clients and
their animal companions. As owners returned, some having been stranded at airports, the calls were
welcomed relief and release of pent up anxiety. Some had property damage to fence lines and
carports. Others were untouched. All were extremely grateful and I slept, with all my dogs on the bed.
Sometimes a pet sitter is not just a pet sitter, she is a heroine in disguise.
No comments:
Post a Comment