Several of our family and friends left last night or early this morning, but the kids (our daughters and our nephew) stuck around until late this afternoon, so we could have some quality time together. We had a few plans for how we would spend the day, but as we were in the middle of the third or fourth alteration to the schedule, one that turned out to be a big, complicated event, I turned and spoke toward the back seat to my nephew, "If you ever wondered how your cousins' life was like growing up, this is it. Exactly like this." This one day was the Cliff's Notes version of our entire lives.
We slept later than we intended, but it was a big week. We all needed the rest. We didn't get out of the house to go retrieve my nephew from his hotel until 10:45 this morning. We always say that we will get an early start, but this is really our M.O. We skipped breakfast, but grabbed coffee, on what was supposed to be our way to the Firefly distillery. I was feeling like I overdid it and was a bit sore even after I took my meds, so I did a fair amount of griping at the man who drove too fast, too close behind dumb low country drivers who don't know how to make a right-hand turn without coming to a sudden full stop. The second deviation from the plan (after the late start) was driving a little north for sight-seeing before heading down the coast towards the distillery. We made a few wrong turns through downtown, but took it as an opportunity to explore neighborhoods that aren't on the standard tourist tours. We parked in our usual spot and walked along Folly Beach for half an hour, just long enough to soak in the happiness that the Edge of America gives us, and to get chilled in the late winter sea breeze. Then instead of spending a lot of time and money on a restaurant, we grabbed cold cuts and produce at a grocery store for a picnic lunch in the car.
Finally we were off to Wadmalaw Island. We were a little over six miles from Firefly (according to the GPS) when we had to slow down for a little yellow lab doing her best to get run over on a rural highway. She was trotting alongside a truck that was in front of us, and when he tried to open his door and give her a ride, she declined, so he gave up and drove off. We pulled over, and turned on our flashers, and waved other cars around her, while we tried to keep her from dashing out and getting hit. She had absolutely no sense, no idea that those big zoomy metal boxes would kill her if she ran in front of one. We were so far from a town, only my nephew had the faintest cell signal, and when he tried to call an animal hospital on the island, he got cut off. We eventually gave up on calling anyone to help, and we loaded the dog into my little compact car, with the five of us, and drove back to James Island, where we knew a shelter was open all afternoon. The shelter where we got our Jackie was about 15 miles from where we found the dog, and we told ourselves that we could drop her off there and still turn back to Firefly, or failing that, at least go see the Angel Oak. The shelter ladies scanned for a chip, and when they found she had one, I thought we had won. I was happy thinking they would take her, and I wandered off to look at the cats in the adoption area. I had cooed at and petted a dozen cats by the time my daughter came in and said that the chip was registered to the same shelter where I fostered and then adopted Athena, another 20-30 miles away. We couldn't even drop off the dog at this place because of it. We had to give up on the Firefly and keep driving to get rid of this dog. Luckily, the kids all had their suitcases, and the next shelter was directly behind the airport. The second shelter informed us this dog's name was Stella, and she had come to this shelter to be spayed (I assume during one of their low-cost spay and neuter specials). Her home address was a tenth of a mile from where we found her, but because she had no collar or tags, we ended up driving her something like 40 miles from home. If there is a takeaway lesson to any of this for all y'all, it is put a tag with your phone number on all of your animals who spend time outside.
Once we were done saving the dog's life, and transporting her to the opposite end of the country from where she lives, we had half an hour left before the kids had to go to the airport. I suggested that we spend that time at the one fast food restaurant that I actually miss now that I eat so much healthier. The only thing they serve is chicken finger meals, with fries, drinks, and dipping sauce that is more addictive than heroin. As tired, flustered, and out of control as I felt (mostly from saving Stella and changing the plans so drastically), I was so tempted to join everyone in a meal, even knowing that the chicken fingers were breaded. They all said do it, but it was my nephew who came up with the most hilarious statement of coercion. "Sometimes the juice is worth the squeezing." Who could argue with that? I got a child's meal: two chicken strips and a pile of fries, all eaten with a little cup of crack... I mean, sauce. If it means the next 48 hours are a miserable migraine-fest spent in the bathroom, I don't care. It was worth it, just to have one cheat, in 14 months of being good.
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