The story goes like this. Yesterday, after one of those mind boggling drives through far too much summer traffic forced us to spend six hours traveling 240 miles, Barry and I arrived at my mother-in-law's house in McMinnville, Oregon. A complete dinner, a conversation, and a movie later, we were all in bed with visions of cooler weather dancing in our heads. No such cooler weather was anywhere in the immediate forecast, but it certainly didn't hurt to fantasize about it.
In the midst of a deep, steamy sleep, I heard a small noise. Opening my eyes, I came face to face with a large ball of black fur, in the middle of which lay two large brown eyes framed by two very perky and expectant ears. What was a small noise in my dreams was now clearly recognizable as a strong whine from an otherwise quiet dog. There was no question in Belle's mind that at the rather early hour of 4 a.m., I was going to roll out of bed to talk her for a walk. By the time I finally found her collar and her leash, Belle was quite agitated and it took only a few feet from the front door to figure out why. This 4 a.m. bout of diarrhea was followed by the 5 a.m. distress, the 6 a.m. walk, and the 8 a.m. rousing when I decided to give up hopes of sleeping and get out of bed for good.
By the time I walked out the door to search for my morning latte, the lack of sleep (or age or some other defect of personality) was making me a little dimwitted. I was totally unprepared to turn the corner and find a pipe spewing large quantities of water into the yard, attempting to make waterfront property out of the front lawn. A little panicked that this house wasn't quite ready to be converted to a houseboat, I loaded Belle into the already overheated car and searched to and fro for something that looked like a water supply valve (although I would have happily settled for the on/off switch for the sprinkler system). After an unsuccessful round of searching, I called The Spouse and not surprisingly, could not reach him... this was a result of the recently passed commandment that "Thou shalt not have thy cell phone on while playing golf". After pursuing another round of equally unsuccessful options, I called 911. The lake in front of the house was continuing to expand at an alarming rate. The woman on the other end of the call was quite gracious, and I was repeatedly apologetic for calling with what might have been a non-emergency if you weren't looking straight at Old Faithful heaving forth directly adjacent to the foundation of a home.
I was beginning to think this wee little drama would end well, when the 911 operator asked "Where are you?." It took me a few seconds to realize I had no idea where I was. All the mail was delivered to a post office box. The house had a number on it, but no street signs were anywhere in sight. And, there was no one around to ask this deep but important question: Where am I?
Surely having to control the urge to laugh at me (which I understood), the 911 operator was able to track down my address based on the tiny disconnected bits of information I did have available to me. Henceforth, she also tracked down the water company for me and the house no longer has visions of becoming a houseboat in the near (nor distant) future.
Where was I? Without luxury of GPS, internet, or other assisting technology, I had no idea.
Today was a good reminder that keeping the basics within arm's reach is almost as important as keeping cell phone, text, e-mail, twitter, and facebook nearby.
At the time of this writing, Belle is sleeping it all off, quite peacefully at the other end of the air conditioned living room. She knows where she is. She's among her people. She doesn't need a GPS, the internet, or 411 directory to tell her anything more.
Cute photo of Belle - I hope she is feeling better
ReplyDelete