The Road Trip

Hello again!  It’s been way too long since my last post, so thank you very much if you’re tuning in again. I’m so happy you’re here!

Life, as we know, is ever-changing and my life is on the cusp of many more changes.  I’ll definitely share more about it all…..stand by.  But for now, I’d like to get back to the journey.  I want to share more of our story before my life gets too busy, while I have some time to recall and write about it all.  After all, it’s been nearly four years since we left San Diego…..four years! How did that happen?

The road trip is where the actual journey  began.  As I wrote a while back, we left our home on December 9, 2019 in my trusty little BMW, Greta.  Every bit of space was packed like a carefully thought out game of Tetris.  Our pup had his little area in the back where he could curl up and lay down or sit or stand and look out the window.   We drove up to Temecula to spend one last night with my daughter-in-law Amy and our grandsons, Wade and Jake (my stepson was out of town).   After  the previous frenzied weeks of packing, cleaning, and goodbyes, we were practically catatonic and my poor dog was out of his mind with confusion and doggy tranquilizers, so we all really needed one night to relax on their comfy couch, and get a good night’s sleep.  We were exhausted and a little scared, but we were excited to start the adventure. It was happening, it was finally happening.   We were finally hitting the road and starting our journey….our little group of three, crammed into my little car.

The plan was to drive across the country to see family and friends and then sell my car in New York before boarding the Queen Mary II on January 3.  I reserved hotel rooms for most of the trip and an Air B&B in Brooklyn before we boarded the ship.  I studied the US road map obsessively (of course I did) and plotted out every mile.   

Day one

We tearfully drove away from Temecula, but not before chasing Parker down the street, who very uncharacteristically ran away from us and refused to get in the car.  A smart cookie, he was….he knew his life was drastically changing and he was NOT having a good time of it.  I remember thinking – for a split second – that maybe it would have been better to leave him in Temecula with my stepson and family who he loved, where he felt comfortable and even enjoyed the company of my Grandog, Kali – one of the few dogs he grudgingly tolerated.  Of course that never would have happened – the novelty of traveling across country and across the Atlantic with our dog was one of the main reasons we wanted to embark on this journey in the first place.  But when that pup was running away from me, the thought did cross my mind.  We weren’t doing this for him….we were doing this for us!  Was that even fair?  We were asking an awful lot of him.  I was nervous for him and I’m sure he sensed that. – my sensitive, anxious boy.  This former street dog thrived on consistency and his familiar routines,   but he was also  curious and adventurous.  My hope was that he would be able to tolerate the journey and enjoy the adventure with us. Yeah….no…..that wouldn’t happen for quite some time – my poor pup.

That morning, he refused to eat his breakfast – his super expensive fancy raw food – of which we brainstormed how to take it with us to keep him on his same diet.  He finally ate some leftover chicken soup from the night before.  We finally got him strapped in the car and hoped he would soon be comfortably numb from the sedative I gave him.  I had gotten a prescription from my vet for our travels to help smooth the rough edges, but when I look back now, I don’t think I was doing him any favors.  He was already confused and unhappy and with the drugs, he was probably foggy and  disoriented too. Best intentions……(insert heavy sigh here). 

After a while, he did finally stop panting and whining and fell into a deep sleep. 

First stop was at a La Quinta Inn in Las Cruces, New Mexico.  For our carefully plotted out trip, I wanted to limit our drives to 8 hours or less.  This La Quinta seemed to fit the bill.  I knew it wouldn’t be fancy, but we just needed place to sleep for the night….it was not as if we were going to be doing any sightseeing at that point. The hotel room was pretty inexpensive, but having stayed at La Quinta Inns before, I  assumed that there was some sort of standard of quality for the brand.  Boy was I wrong!  We arrived after dark and the hotel was in a real sketchy part of town.  I immediately got a sinking feeling in my gut that we made a big, big mistake.  This would be the first of many times that I felt this. 

The hotel itself was a SHIT HOLE!  Dear god….we left our beautiful home, our family, our friends, set out on our dream of a lifetime and our first stop was this SHIT HOLE?  Believe me, even as exhausted as I was, I mustered up the energy to question every decision that led up to us arriving at this SHIT HOLE.  We had dragged ALL of our worldly goods into the room (Skip has a very firm rule to never leave anything in the car over night at a hotel ever since his car was broken into – many years before on a road trip with the the previous Mrs. Manbeck – when many valuable items were stolen). Upon inspection of our room, we discovered a half full beer and a melted ice cream cup in the mini fridge, the bathroom sink ran slow and the shower curtain was moldy.  We were nearly paralyzed with physical and emotional exhaustion, so we were way too tired to move – but writing these words right now, just thinking that we actually stayed in that room is making me queasy. 

We attempted to feed Parker his dinner – his fancy raw food – and he refused to eat again. He normally loved his food so we knew how unhappy he must have been.  The next morning, Skip got him some scrambled eggs from the hotel breakfast and he managed to get a few bites down. We had brought one chipped bowl and one tablespoon from our silverware set for the road trip.  I washed them with hotel shampoo after his meal.  Ever since that trip, whenever I’d be in a hotel with Parker, I would feel a little zing of traumatic stress whenever I’d be washing out his food bowls. 

Days Two, Three, Four

We got the hell out of that shithole as fast as we could, packed Greta up to the roof again and got back on the road.  We were heading to Georgetown, Texas where my stepbrother and his family lived.  My stepmother lived there too.  It was a long, boring drive across New Mexico and west Texas.  The dog was still weird and I was still dosing him because I still thought it would be better for him.  We stopped at some fast food burger place  in the middle of nowhere – a small, run down dusty town.  We choked down some food and got Parker a plain burger patty.  We walked him near the burger place.  No grass around.  He looked so forlorn and barely ate a few bites of the burger.  I was really feeling bad for him and just kept hoping things would get better for him…I was probably projecting a bit….hoping things were going to be better for Skip and me too. I was feeling so much guilt – putting him though all of this just because we humans wanted to move to France and he had no choice.

Later, we arrived in Georgetown.  In the last hour or so before arriving in to town, there was a luminous full moon leading us down tree-filled country roads and through charming little towns.  I remember feeling somewhat relieved and more optimistic about our plans. In Georgetown, we stayed in a Best Western Plus….not exactly the Taj Mahal but after after our glorious experience in Las Cruces, it was heavenly. We were exhausted, but happy.  We even managed to go to the grocery store for a few provisions – WINE – and Skip went out and got pizza from a place my brother recommended.  I can’t even describe how content I felt to be sitting in my comfy bed with crisp white sheets, in a sparkling clean hotel, eating pizza and drinking a good cabernet – knowing that we weren’t moving for 2 whole days!  However, my Parker was still refusing to eat.  The frozen raw food was now rapidly thawing and we were throwing away every meal.  Next morning….same thing.  Parker ate a few bites of eggs from the hotel breakfast. I knew he would eat when he was ready, but I was getting pretty concerned about him and his mood.

The next day we went into town and parked on a semi-busy street in downtown Georgetown.  We wanted to get some lunch and take a walk around the quaint downtown area.  Much to my horror, Parker jumped out of the car and started running into traffic!  So weird!  He was so not himself.  He scared the hell out of me and I was becoming very alarmed by the changes in him.  

Later, we went to my bother’s place…a nice big property on the outskirts of town.  Parker seemed like he was having a good time running all over the yard, burning off some steam, smelling lots of new smells.  Skip and I were both  relieved to see him acting a little more like himself.  We had a great time with my bonus Mom, my brother Bob and my sister-in-law, Erin.  Their kids, Matilda and Milo are the best!  Such awesome humans, each with their own unique spirits and personalities.  We loved seeing their property, their gardens and the animals – theirs and the neighboring ones.  We had a fun and lively dinner full of good conversation and plenty of laughter.

But, earlier in the yard, when Parker was walking away from me – sorry, this is going to get a little gross – and I saw something dark on his butt – right under his tail.  At first I thought it was stuck-on poop but when I lifted his tail for a better look, I saw a round, bubble-like thing that looked like a hemorrhoid.  I wondered if dogs even got hemorrhoids. So strange.  It definitely wasn’t there the day before – I know we were busy and distracted, but I’m sure I would have noticed.   I asked my brother for the name of his vet but they weren’t able to see him until the next morning.  Parker didn’t seem to be in any pain or distressed by this thing – whatever it was – so I figured that would be fine to wait until the next day.  However, I started thinking that it would be best for him to be seen as soon as possible in case there was a major treatment required and we had a pretty tight schedule we were trying to adhere to.  So I looked up vets in the area and found one that agreed to see him that afternoon.  The veterinarian was darling – with her big blue eyes, long, long eyelashes and perfectly coifed long blonde hair, she looked like a 16 year old supermodel, but she was quite thorough and seemed very skilled.  She examined the growth and took a small specimen and went to look at the cells under the microscope.  She came back, looking concerned and said the cells looked cloudy and suspicious.  I mean….WTF??  All this planning and now my Parker has some butt growth that looks “suspicious”?  No wonder this poor pup seemed so miserable.  Maybe whatever this was had been growing over the last few days, adding to his misery.  The beautiful Doogie Houser vet got on the phone right away to try to make arrangements for Parker to have surgery as soon as possible.  Problem was that the hospital’s surgeon was fully booked for the next few days.  The vet now knew of our plans and the schedule we were trying to keep.  We were trying to brainstorm ideas and the vet told us that she went to school in Dallas (our next stop) and knew of some good vets/surgeons there.  We left hoping that she would be able to help us find someone.  We were back at my brother’s for dinner when the vet called me to say that the surgeon in Georgetown agreed to come in extra early the next morning to do the surgery for Parker!  So kind of her. We spoke to the surgeon – she was so funny – said she hated “butt surgery”, but really wanted to help.  Honestly, everyone in that hospital was so kind and helpful.  They all wanted to help us get through this hurdle.  They were all so interested in our journey – the Queen Mary crossing and starting a life in France and they wanted to do all they could to help us get on our way.  

That night before his surgery, Parker refused his food again.   So, we just threw away all of his raw food. We didn’t have a choice….it was now all fully defrosted and it wouldn’t be safe to eat for much longer.   He just wasn’t interested.   He was so obviously unhappy, but little did he know that his life was going to get even worse….butt surgery the next morning.  Poor, poor guy.

The next morning, before the sun came up, we were at the hospital with the pup.  I gave him a big hug and very tearfully, sent him off with the vet tech, telling him he was going to be ok. We spoke to the surgeon after the surgery and she said there were actually 2 growths – one more internal which she said just crumbled into pieces when she attempted to remove it and the large, more solid mass (oh god…now were were calling it a mass) on the outside – the one I saw the day before.  She said the masses were actually orienting from the area just under his tail, at the upper entrance of his anus, not actually inside as it appears to be the day before when I discovered it.  She also said the masses looked “suspicious” and she was particularly concerned by the one that crumbled.  Weird….so weird that I didn’t see anything earlier.  She said they’d send it off to pathology and we’d all just hope for the best.  Never did I see this coming….all the planning, work,  stress and goodbyes and now we’re going to wait and see if my dog has cancer?  Unreal.

We picked him up later that afternoon…..poor boy, all groggy and even more confused.  They gave us a cone of shame which we attempted to put on before getting in the car….that lasted 4 seconds – he pushed it right off his head.  $14 down the drain because there was no way he was going to wear it – ever.

We needed to stay an extra night in Georgetown to give the pup some time to recover a bit.  I didn’t even know how he was going to go potty…not to be any more graphic than I already have been, but I’m sure it was going to be extremely uncomfortable for him.  I had been telling him all about our adventure and our travel plans for months (yes….I talked to my dog a lot).  I then imagined what was going in in his doggy brain, ”This”? “This is the goddamn adventure you’ve been telling me about? Because this is some total bullshit”!

Since the lampshade was out of the question, I put one of my nightgowns on him and tied it under his back legs.  He was pretty dopey, so he just went to sleep on the bed like that….oh the indignity of it all!  The next day, the potty situation went better than we expected.  He still barely ate anything and every once in a while he would bolt up and try to get to the stitches and then run around – like he was trying to get away from his own butt.  Poor, poor Buddy.

Days Five, Six, Seven

Next stop was Grapevine, TX to the my oldest stepson Brandon and family….the TexBecks as they had come to be referred to (like the Manbeculas of Temecula – we were dubbed the Grandbecks or later as the Francebecks….all courtesy of our son-in-law Eryn when we were all in Kauai together several months before).  

We had a great, but shorter than planned visit (because of that extra day in Georgetown).  Still, it was a wonderful, if bittersweet time with our kids and grandkids.  Brandon is an excellent chef, so we enjoyed some great food. It was so nice just to sit and enjoy some wine with Brandon and Jenny, my daughter-in-law and spend some precious time with our grandkids, Olivia and Henry….but it was just too little time!  We also spent some time organizing Christmas gifts for the family (we’d be missing Christmas with all of them this year), and the never-ending quest for finding food that Nervous Nelly would eat.  I really don’t blame him for being so out of sorts….he’d already been through hell and we only left home 5 days before!  One day, we left the still recuperating pup home with Brandon while we ran some errands.   Brandon later reported that he screamed the entire time we were gone!  Oh my god….this dog!  After all he’d endured for the last 5 days and all of the chaos at home in the weeks before we left, he now  probably thought he was being abandoned.  Why did I ever think that this giant trip was going to be a good idea for our anxious weirdo of a dog?  All of the changes, the travel, the sedatives and now a crazy surgery?  Plus now waiting for lab results from the removed masses and the possibility of Parker being sick, like really sick, was weighing so heavily.  Believe me when I say I was really starting to feel like we needed to ditch this overly ambitious plan and just go home.  But….no home to go back to.  The only choice was to carry on and hope that this whole crazy idea was going to be worth it.  

Day Eight

We left our beloved TexBecks on December 18 and spent one quick night in Memphis (a nice, clean and comfortable, if nondescript chain hotel).  It was here that we began some communication with some old friends in new York about my car, my little Greta.  It was our plan to sell her in New York before we left on the ship.  Skip was convinced that it would be easy…Car Max or some place like that.  But my friend, Stephanie in New York said she might be interested.  I loved this idea because I loved this car so much.  We took such good care of her and she served me well for 13 years.  I was so sad about selling her, but like everything else in our planned big move, we were getting rid of everything to be as unencumbered as possible.  Greta was just part of the grand plan to make all of that happen.….to transport us and as much of our worldly possessions we could cram into the car,  to take us across the country, so we could avoid putting our pup on a plane and to say goodbye to family and friends along the way. 

I’ll end here for now because, as usual, I have been overly wordy!  I’ll give you a break and come back to the rest of the road trip….North Carolina and New York.

Thanks for coming along on this journey with me.  I so appreciate being able to share my story with you. 

❤️ Lisa