Leaving Normal

36 hours on a ferry. I'm relaxing. Sitting in the sun on the windless side of the the ship, almost too warm. The orcas and humpbacks ease out of the water just enough to cause chaos amongst the camera clickers. In the far distance they see a tail wave at them and the long nosed zoom lenses jump in front of the pocket shots. I may have to retreat to the cooler side of the boat just to see the water.

I read. Then knit. Then work a sudoku puzzle. Then read some more. And I have it pretty easy. Harley is down below. The back seat of the truck is his second home, but that is where familiarity ends. I have to roll down the windows to give him some air flow in the heat of the hull. There's the constant roar of the engines, slamming car doors, echos of amplified bangs and clangs and voices. Every six hours I am able to release him from his small quarters for a hug of reassurance and a walk through the narrow isles between the rows of vehicles. I encourage him to do his business. We only have 15 minutes. I try to keep him moving in hopes of getting the process moving, but Harley wants to meet the howlers and whiners and barkers he has been listening to. Everyone is friendly in this place that nobody can claim as their own. Socialization is important, so we stop for the meet and greet sniffs, then continue walking. Other owners are mopping up doggy elimination off the steel floor. I take Harley over to smell the potty place. He still refuses. It's just wrong to pee inside on the floor.

The announcement tells me our time is up. I plead with Harley, "Go pee, go pee!" He keeps looking for the grassy place. I coax him with food and water. Nothing. No eat, no drink, no pee. The car deck is still very warm so I crack open the rear sliding window as well. It is going to be a long night for Harley.

I'm in the cabin deck lounge, curled up on a four foot long table bench with my blanket over my head and ear plugs in my ears to drown out the conversations of others. I'm trying my best to zone out the world and get some rest. The week prior was emotionally challenging so the quite rest is welcoming.

About two hours into this bliss I hear my name over the loud speaker. "Debora Carney, please come to the purser's counter." I knew sleeping fully dressed was a good idea. I find my glasses, run my fingers through my hair and stumble down the stairs, following the instructions of the booming voice. A man I recognize from the car deck is standing there with no expression. "Your dog escaped and is running around the car deck." I laugh. He does not. I couldn't get Harley to jump through that window all summer. I tried to coax him to climb through so he could have access to water and food in the bed of the truck while I was working. The plain faced man escorts me down below so that I may apprehend my criminal. Harley peaks around a car, sees me and wiggles his way over, so happy to see me I dare not scold him. He went looking for me and he found me. I lead him back to his truck, close the window and tell him I'll see him in the morning. I hope he at least got a pee out of his adventure.

The next morning, before the car deck call, I order a cheese and sausage omlet. I don't care for sausage much but I can mix it with Harley's kibble to get him to eat. I enjoy the egg and cheese, put all the meat stuff in a napkin and smuggle it out of the cafe.

The sausage was eaten, but that was about it. He followed it with a few laps of water and we began our routine. Still nothing. At least he ate and drank so I know he won't collapse from hunger or dehydration before me meet land, but he may explode in my truck. I keep my fingers crossed that he took advantage of his freedoms the night before.

The rest of the day went along uneventfully; reading, knitting, puzzling, walking, sniffing, greeting. The next morning we pulled into Bellingham. I drove across the street from the terminal to the nearest patch of grassy earth that thankfully also provided a trail, and we walked and walked and did our business and walked some more. Harley smiled, relieved in several different ways, until I opened the back seat door again. He just starred at me. "I'm going in too. One long drive and we're done, I promise! Next stop, Oregon Coast!"