With Hurricane Florence about to make landfall - and millions evacuating as we on the coasts more and more frequently must do, I started thinking about the many times we have made that harrowing journey inland, away and to higher ground.
In the midst of the fear and speculation and all of the unknowns and "what ifs" running through the minds of families fleeing these monster storms, there is nervous energy. The chaos of making darn sure you have plenty of gas before you leave, and if you don't, the ensuing panic of seeing lines of cars and "sold out" signs as you sojourn on. And then. Do you have the keepsakes? Did you board up sufficiently? When will we be able to come back home again? Will there be power? What about the trees - which ones could fall on the house? What about the lawn furniture and any other potential projectiles?
You calm yourself with - we have us, we have the dog - we're good. And we're going.
Joe the Dog helped make these panicked journeys certainly more interesting, memorable and downright silly at times.
When I was still working at 35 West Wacker Drive, the Leo Burnett Building, in my sweet home Chicago, I was fortunate to have the privilege of commuting from our new home in Florida back to Chicago for work. I flew back and forth once or twice a month and otherwise worked from our home office or Starbucks.
One of these such trips involved a rather spectacular chain of events and hurricanes - four of them. Charley - who hit the Gulf and in an unprecedented move, cruised right across the state of Florida to find another life in the Atlantic - saw me stranded in Atlanta. I couldn't get home from my three-city tour of Chicago, LA and NYC - because right before my flight into Daytona Beach, they closed my home airport.
I stayed the night downtown and was fortunately able to find a rental car. Midway into the six plus hour trip, I learned our family's homes had lost power. I stopped at a Publix in Jacksonville, got some filets, ice, a cooler, etc., and we had a candlelit barbecue with my in-laws. It was my birthday.
The next three hurricanes saw us boarding up and evacuating - to the Keys? to North Carolina? to Tallahassee? Where is the storm going? This is always a hard call. Seasoned hurricane folk know you can't decide until the last minute where to head, because the storm can (and will) change course at the drop of a hat.
That's what just happened last year with Maria. We evacuated - with a tranquilized 13-year-old Joe the Dog, to Tallahassee - only to see the storm turn towards us. With our tails between our legs, we rushed back home, this time with our Tallahassee friends, and their dog Lily, in tow. And then Maria turned toward us again in the middle of one of the scariest nights I have yet to experience.
So, for Ivan, the third in the string of the four 2004 storms, we headed to North Carolina. We had both Joe and his brother Chester with us and set inland for the long drive up to Beech Mountain. Chester's very first ride in the car as a puppy resulted in car sickness. He had to be medicated with anti-anxiety pills ever since. There was lots of drooling.
Traveling with two very large, 80-pound - though well-behaved - dogs has its own challenges. If you have to stop for the night, can you find a very rural hotel willing to take large dogs that won't already be full? It's literally catch as catch can and you have to hope everyone in the "Evacuating Community" is tolerant, empathic and good-natured - after all, you're all in the same proverbial boat.
Several hundred miles out of Florida and farther out of harm's way, we decided everyone needed a break, so we pulled in to a fast-food stop with lots of like-minded folks. I should here mention that Joe the Dog, trained by my husband, always pretty much minded, heeled and stayed - and didn't necessarily need a leash in order to stay put.
Necessarily. While we were busy in the chaos getting water and food and bathroom breaks, for both dogs and people, Joe went missing.
There were so many cars and people I was immediately panicked. How could a giant dog like that just disappear? Had he been dognapped? Was he hit by a car in the manic parking lot? "Joe the Dog!," "Joe!," "Joseph?," we fearfully shouted.
About two incredibly long minutes into the scare, I heard an abrupt and surprised yell and then a cacophony of very purposeful dog barking.
"Joe." I said to myself.
I followed the hubbub and there, in the DRIVER'S SEAT OF SOMEONE'S MINIVAN, was Joe the Dog. Joe not only had claimed this minivan as his own, but had recruited the four dog passengers in the backseat as his partners in crime.
The bewildered, surprised and (thankfully) uproariously laughing owner was feverishly trying to hold all four of his thrilled and excited dogs back from their new leader.
Once I fully took in the ridiculous scene before me, I quickly reprimanded Joe, removed him from his upholstered throne, apologized profusely to the man and wished him safely on his similar journey. I apologized again. Then I said to my husband when a sheepish Joe and I arrived at the car, "Do you know what your dog just did?"
I do hope that kind and happy man still tells that story - fondly - whenever he recalls fleeing that giant storm.
We wish the 1.5 million Hurricane Florence evacuees and coastal residents and their pets and loved ones safety at all points on the long journey that is a hurricane.
In the midst of the fear and speculation and all of the unknowns and "what ifs" running through the minds of families fleeing these monster storms, there is nervous energy. The chaos of making darn sure you have plenty of gas before you leave, and if you don't, the ensuing panic of seeing lines of cars and "sold out" signs as you sojourn on. And then. Do you have the keepsakes? Did you board up sufficiently? When will we be able to come back home again? Will there be power? What about the trees - which ones could fall on the house? What about the lawn furniture and any other potential projectiles?
You calm yourself with - we have us, we have the dog - we're good. And we're going.
Joe the Dog helped make these panicked journeys certainly more interesting, memorable and downright silly at times.
When I was still working at 35 West Wacker Drive, the Leo Burnett Building, in my sweet home Chicago, I was fortunate to have the privilege of commuting from our new home in Florida back to Chicago for work. I flew back and forth once or twice a month and otherwise worked from our home office or Starbucks.
One of these such trips involved a rather spectacular chain of events and hurricanes - four of them. Charley - who hit the Gulf and in an unprecedented move, cruised right across the state of Florida to find another life in the Atlantic - saw me stranded in Atlanta. I couldn't get home from my three-city tour of Chicago, LA and NYC - because right before my flight into Daytona Beach, they closed my home airport.
I stayed the night downtown and was fortunately able to find a rental car. Midway into the six plus hour trip, I learned our family's homes had lost power. I stopped at a Publix in Jacksonville, got some filets, ice, a cooler, etc., and we had a candlelit barbecue with my in-laws. It was my birthday.
The next three hurricanes saw us boarding up and evacuating - to the Keys? to North Carolina? to Tallahassee? Where is the storm going? This is always a hard call. Seasoned hurricane folk know you can't decide until the last minute where to head, because the storm can (and will) change course at the drop of a hat.
That's what just happened last year with Maria. We evacuated - with a tranquilized 13-year-old Joe the Dog, to Tallahassee - only to see the storm turn towards us. With our tails between our legs, we rushed back home, this time with our Tallahassee friends, and their dog Lily, in tow. And then Maria turned toward us again in the middle of one of the scariest nights I have yet to experience.
So, for Ivan, the third in the string of the four 2004 storms, we headed to North Carolina. We had both Joe and his brother Chester with us and set inland for the long drive up to Beech Mountain. Chester's very first ride in the car as a puppy resulted in car sickness. He had to be medicated with anti-anxiety pills ever since. There was lots of drooling.
Traveling with two very large, 80-pound - though well-behaved - dogs has its own challenges. If you have to stop for the night, can you find a very rural hotel willing to take large dogs that won't already be full? It's literally catch as catch can and you have to hope everyone in the "Evacuating Community" is tolerant, empathic and good-natured - after all, you're all in the same proverbial boat.
Several hundred miles out of Florida and farther out of harm's way, we decided everyone needed a break, so we pulled in to a fast-food stop with lots of like-minded folks. I should here mention that Joe the Dog, trained by my husband, always pretty much minded, heeled and stayed - and didn't necessarily need a leash in order to stay put.
Necessarily. While we were busy in the chaos getting water and food and bathroom breaks, for both dogs and people, Joe went missing.
There were so many cars and people I was immediately panicked. How could a giant dog like that just disappear? Had he been dognapped? Was he hit by a car in the manic parking lot? "Joe the Dog!," "Joe!," "Joseph?," we fearfully shouted.
About two incredibly long minutes into the scare, I heard an abrupt and surprised yell and then a cacophony of very purposeful dog barking.
"Joe." I said to myself.
I followed the hubbub and there, in the DRIVER'S SEAT OF SOMEONE'S MINIVAN, was Joe the Dog. Joe not only had claimed this minivan as his own, but had recruited the four dog passengers in the backseat as his partners in crime.
The bewildered, surprised and (thankfully) uproariously laughing owner was feverishly trying to hold all four of his thrilled and excited dogs back from their new leader.
Once I fully took in the ridiculous scene before me, I quickly reprimanded Joe, removed him from his upholstered throne, apologized profusely to the man and wished him safely on his similar journey. I apologized again. Then I said to my husband when a sheepish Joe and I arrived at the car, "Do you know what your dog just did?"
I do hope that kind and happy man still tells that story - fondly - whenever he recalls fleeing that giant storm.
We wish the 1.5 million Hurricane Florence evacuees and coastal residents and their pets and loved ones safety at all points on the long journey that is a hurricane.
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