Weekly Briefing from the North Texas Apocalypse Bunker, 7/22/22

Not In San Diego Edition

This briefing is being filed from the road, specifically in Arkansas, in the company of the Director of Bunker Ops’ family, as we drive our way through the Ozarks in search of every roadside ball of twine, house of mud, and locally-owned gift shop, gas station, and pulled pork barbecue shack we can find.

Pupdate, Week 4

I’ve had to admit to myself that I’m not helping the bunker mascot, not like I need to be. Simply put, she got the better of me. It came to a head last weekend, at 11:30 PM Sunday, when Sonya, who had been listless all day, announced with her special whining sound that she was ready to go to the bathroom.

We hurriedly put clothes back on (for we were in bed, you see), strapped her into her carrying harness (which she hates), and Janice started down the stairs with her. We were , unfortunately, a bit late, and so by the time we were at the landing, midway down the stairs, the dog was dropping bombs. Wait, check that. She wasn’t on a bombing run so much as she was spraying Agent Orange all over the stairs.

I volunteered to clean the stairs up while Janice finished what was left of the bathroom run. For the past few days, the dog would start out limping along with both of us, so she could do her business, but as soon as that was over with, she’d lay down and refuse to move. We’ve been carrying her nearly everywhere. And by “we” I mean, mostly Janice because my back was still jacked up, and that made me feel even more guilty.

All of this was swirling around in my head as I sponged horrible foulness off of the concrete steps. I was finishing up the task at hand when I heard Janice call for me. She didn’t sound winded, or panicked. It was a tone I could not identify. I walked out onto the sidewalk and looked right, and then left. No Janice. No Sonya.

Then I spied Janice. She and the dog were across the street, on the courthouse lawn.

“What are you doing over there?” I called out. The lawn was one of Sonya’s favorite things. She had been looking longingly at it for a full week but in the heat, and with her not willing to walk across the hot street, I’ve been gently denying her the chance to roll in the grass. My first thought was that Janice had carried the dog over, a not inconsiderable haul.

“She walked over here,” Janice replied. “No, let me rephrase that: she nearly dragged me over here.”

I was dumbfounded. “No shit?”

“No shit.”

I looked at my dog, who was now looking at me. I said, “Sonya Louise,” but before I could further admonish her, she looked away, and then, I swear to God, she fell to the ground in a near swoon. The only thing missing was a fainting couch. The Bronte sisters couldn’t have written a better scene of a young woman, overcome with the vapors at the sight of her tyrannical father.

Janice was livid. “I don’t know what this is,” she said. “She came over here, went to the bathroom, rolled around on the ground...”

“Was she limping?”

“Well, yes, but she was also nearly running to get over here!”

I tried calling her. She wouldn’t move. Janice lifted her back end up, and her front legs started to tremble, like she had no strength in them. After five minutes of coaxing, we’d moved all of ten feet. I put the strap on my shoulder and carried her the rest of the way back to the house.

She’s not as hurt as she’s pretending to be, or maybe, she’s got it into her dog head that I want to carry her ass around everywhere. She acts one way with me, and another way with Janice. And she’s not improving.

I was furious. I kept wanting to scream at her, “Do you want to just give up?” Janice was frustrated and crying. She thought that she had been doing something wrong; “I think I broke your dog,” she said, nearly in tears. She didn’t, of course. And my anger was simply my frustration at not being able to get the dog what she needs.

As of right now, she’s back at the vet’s. They have gotten her to eat dog food, and adjusted her leg brace, and she’s on crate rest now. I think that Sonya will bounce back, provided I can remove myself from the calculus. Something between us got skewed in this process. I don’t know what. I hope that being at the vet’s will give her the space she needs to heal up.

None of this should have triggered all of my lingering thoughts and feelings about my recent role as a caregiver, but it absolutely did.

Report From the Open Road: Somewhere in Arkansas

This road trip was supposed to happen with the pooch, but after the last few weeks, maybe it’s a good thing she’s not here. We all needed a break from one another, I think.

That’s how I found myself in Arkansas, taking the waters, and seeking out all of the nuttiness that the state has to offer. I’ve driven through Arkansas to get to Memphis, but I’ve never stopped anywhere here before. Pro Tip: No one here knows where Jason Bateman is, and they seem to really resent it when you ask.

The Arlington hotel and spa is one of those storied places that has hosted the toast of the 20th century, including this guy. As a 100 year old man, trapped in a much younger body, this was a big deal to me.

He’s not in there. I checked. The guy that answered the door in his underwear was really pissed, too. Evidently, he hasn’t taken the waters yet.

Of course, getting out of Texas was its own adventure. We found ourselves driving through the exact same geography that James McMurtry sings about in “Choctaw Bingo,” perhaps the greatest song ever written about the North Texas/Southern Oklahoma crystal methamphetamine industry. I’d never been to Paris, either. Eiffel tower? Checked, y’all!

I’m not wearing my glasses because they fogged up the instant I left the car.

We also stopped in Hugo, Oklahoma, to check out the circus cemetery. It was quite moving.

Acrobats, strongmen, animal trainers and many others are laid to rest here.

I know this is supposed to be touching, but…clowns. Still, this tribute was on the nose. I’ll see myself out now.

This headstone is a circus tent. How cool is that?

I left a dime on one of the monuments that designated the Showmen’s Rest area. One thin dime, ladies and gents! I just wanna see the elephant…

I’ll be heading up to Fayetteville next week, where a number of day trips have already been planned. But I’m excited because my oldest/bestest/big brother and frequent collaborator John Lucas and his lovely wife Mindy live there. We don’t get to see each other enough. It’ll be good to see him and catch up and look at the wonderful artwork he’s been cranking out for recent projects.