This is Happening in My City: Sasha's Pet Resort
(I wrote this last week before the two Minneapolis deaths. I am truly saddened and equally furious over this Nazi-like takeover of our country. This insanity must be stopped if it won’t stop itself.)
Sasha's Pet Resort
I was planning on an introduction to this week’s Sasha’s Pet Resort blog with some fun and pithy crowd-pleasers I typically open with. But not today. Apparently, God has other plans. It was cold in Redmond last night. 28 degrees and clear. Sasha’s is not tropical, in the mid-50s during the day. So a few hours ago, as I was graying blank pages, a young woman, maybe in her late teens or early 20s--and perhaps Peruvian--came into Sasha’s all bundled up and asked if she could have some hot water. She had a tea bag but no cup. She said she would go find one. I said no, we have a cup you can use and I invited her inside to get warm with the dogs. I could tell that the elements were eroding her.
She was appreciative but didn’t say much. Then she rested her head on our reception desk and fell fast asleep. Incorporating some of the tastiest recipes you’ll ever find in a doggy daycare, I whipped up a lunch of crispy chicken wings and sticky rice and she absolutely devoured it and probably would have taken seconds if I had offered. She then went upstairs to our boarding space and took a short nap with one of our cuddliest members (Bambi, who you’ll find to be a member of Sasha’s Gang!)
Meanwhile, my wife called and confirmed in a KING-TV news segment that ICE arrests were taking place in our elite Microsoft community this past week. Shameful. I’m trying to remain apolitical here, but that is challenging. We all know who is behind this private militia building initiative and why. I’m not going to argue that point with anyone. I know what I know and will not ignore my natural knowing. I don’t want to mention ICE with her since I suspect those are fighting words to those on the lam.
I saw her studying a bus schedule so I hoped she could get out of town without causing suspicion. I can’t believe the trauma this is causing our country since our politicians just ignorantly allow our democracy to crumble. I trust saner minds will eventually rise to the top to stop this madness!
So an update. This woman left Sasha’s about 3:30 that afternoon. I was hoping for the best and that she’d remain out of harm’s way. So imagine my surprise when she returned sometime after dark, maybe 7 pm. Still cold, she asked if she could go up to our boarding area and cuddle a bit more with Bambi, our resident cuddler. Confused, I said of course, but asked how she was going to get home.
Her disposition at this juncture seemed a bit more lethargic, and might I say dark, than it had been that morning. She responded that her mom would pick her up after work. When I asked what time, she answered in a mumble of incoherence before retiring to her cuddle with Bambi. Not understanding a word she said, I assumed 9:00 pm was standard quitting time for many downtown merchants, so I would look for her mom sometime after that.
Well, 9 pm came and went. I went upstairs to our boarding area and our guest was fully covered and Bambi had already left for the night. I spoke softly, calling her name, and she moved just enough to let me know that she had gone into partnership with our bed and wasn’t about to renege on her commitment. Seemed odd but thought I’d give her a little more time to come awake. Like a second phone alarm.
At 10:00 pm I went back upstairs to let her know there would not be a third alarm. But she didn’t stir. So I turned on all the lights and called her name repeatedly. Still no motion I could see. I thought about removing her blankets and shaking her awake. But my cautionary nature figured that would not be a politically correct move, me a senior citizen male with a young female? Nothing but trouble in that scenario. But why wasn’t she stirring? This alarmed me. I knew as a result of addiction in my own family, that this was potentially an overdose. And while I’m not an EMT, I reasoned the most prudent course was to phone someone that knew what they were doing, not sitting around until it was too late.
I dialed 911 and within five minutes we had four police vehicles, one fire engine and an ambulance firmly entrenched in Sasha’s parking lot with all lights flashing (but thankfully no sirens). After administering NARCAN nasal spray, our visitor “came to.” They had her sitting up and still mumbling, but at least alive! Eventually, she was strapped onto a gurney and whisked away to a local hospital ER. I only hoped that this didn’t get her snagged in an ICE dragnet.
So appears she was an addict. But does that justify ICE violating her rights if she’s in the country legally? ABSOLUTELY NOT! And would I invite her in if I had it to do all over again. YES! Addiction is a disease and needn’t be treated by a pack of Neanderthals as a criminal offense worthy of arrest or being murdered on American streets in full daylight. This must stop! Dan
Now without further ado, onward with the continuing Adventures of Sasha’s Gang!
The Continuing Adventures of Sasha’s Gang
Chapter Four
“So now what?” Spouse asked, a dim gloom backlighting her words, as she layered a hoodie over her sweater. All as I hypnotically studied the nearly motionless Turquoise, still resting at my feet. Tenuous as 220 volts, but appearing harmless as a butterfly, she didn’t seem the least bit unsettled.
Meanwhile the other dogs wandered about, investigating the odiferous big dog roller-derby room with twitching noses. It led outdoors via our doggy door to a miniscule but proficiently fenced green space, essential for time-efficient potty breaks. The dogs loved it. Some would even go out during a rainstorm and just sit. As if taking a warm shower—though it was perpetually cold, even in August.
“It’s gonna be a frigid one tonight,” I warned. “Maybe best we figure out where we’re all sleeping and how we’re gonna keep warm.”
“A seven-dog night by my count.” Spouse said playfully, tenderly squeezing my thigh. “And instead of how we gonna keep warm…well, how about how we gonna get warm?”
“I hear you,” I joked, turning the table. “But not tonight…I’ve a bit of a headache.”
“Ha ha…” She kidded as she squeezed my thigh a bit harder, with a hybrid joyful-sinister smile. There was an old foam mattress packed away upstairs which had once been victim to myriad urine episodes and justifiably retired. But could fill in during a pinch with a cladding of sheets to shield us from the bouquet and a clutch of Costco blankets to warm us. And yes, plenty of heated air from seven snoring boarders, plus spouse and I.
Yet, my mind continued performing calisthenics over the sleight-of-paw sorcery created by the furry talisman at my feet. How do I rationalize and accept all I experienced as existent and real? Feels as if I’ve taken a role in the Wizard of Oz as a flying monkey.
Maybe this kaleidoscope day was all just a long overdue tie-dye hangover? I freely admit I was a bit of a free spirit during the late-60s pursuing my new-age explorations. But that was many decades ago and haven’t had a flashback to this day!
But if even so, so what? I’m engulfed by a dominion without visa, no possible validation of my own ears and eyes—or me! Isolated. Just one against the world. A perilous position at best. Who is going to believe my tale of a supernatural dog?
Suddenly, I felt it! Just a tiny bump. With the faint knock of a wind-blown branch, yet the abruptness of a sledgehammer—in its wake the faint creak of the building and momentary dizziness. The rippled flow of candlelight splashed across our muraled wall. You don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind is blowing and I certainly didn’t need a dangling belt to know whether this was a genuine tremor.
“An aftershock.” As if explanation was necessary. The dogs’ collective howl said it all. Mother earth was doing her Pilates again. And then she immediately stalked off in a quiet huff.
“I figured as much,” Spouse said tolerantly. “Hon…uh, I’m just so sorry I didn’t hear anything. I really wanted to.” Her other arm landed maternally on my shoulder.
“I know you did,” I replied, in a cul-de-sac of confusion. My prison for the night, if not longer. “So make up our bed?”
“Sure poopie,” she replied, starting to rise. “Your phone working?”
“Nah. Didn’t expect it would be” I paused. “But before we do that, think I should wake this girl up.” I glanced down at Turquoise who appeared unruffled by life. Her radiant eyes were peacefully clouded, while her breathing was slow and rhythmic as the tide.
“Maybe you should just let her rest,” Spouse urged. “She could be tapped out. I can see you are.” She leveraged nurse dominance for which I didn’t have a matching sheep skin. So as often was the case, I punted.
Nonetheless I still had this burning desire to understand more about what was happening with Turquoise. I felt a bit like a kid on Christmas morning who found his long-awaited chemistry set beneath the tree and then wasn’t allowed to blow things up! But surrendering to spouse’s persuasion, I quietly disconnected from Turquoise, while the other dogs, seven of our regulars, pranced about in their earthquake trots.
We immediately crafted our sleeping quarters for the night, a king-size foam mattress with urine memories in the center of our roller-derby daycare room where the suspicious pack continued to sniff for terrestrial interlopers. And we draped every sheet and quilt stored in our closets to create a textile pig-pile for both human and sherpa beasts to ascend. It was already 34 degrees and dropping. No functioning furnace. Just our collective breath and flatulence
“I’m freezing,” spouse declared as all began to sniff the community bedstead for their spot, a few argumentative growls along the way.
“Everyone, cool itI” I bellowed, agitated. “Let’s play nice. And knock off any farting!”
“You don’t need to shout,” spouse reprimanded all, though her directive specifically targeted me. “Inside voices.” And all seemed to recognize that space in the newfound bed was at a premium, thus their prowl as timely as an at-sea search and rescue.
“Hello?” It was the Redmond female officer again. “Just a quick update. First off, the park fire was uh…an old motorhome someone was living in.” I could see her foggy breath at our entrance. “Quake was 6.4 about 30 miles beneath Olympia In the Juan de Fuca plate.”
My knee-jerk prognosis earlier was relatively spot on. Think this quake’s location was similar to the Nisqually earthquake which struck in 2001 and killed a few people. Again, definitely not the big one.
“Any strays?” I asked.
“None yet…but sure we’ll likely get some before the nights over.”
“We’re camped out downstairs here. Just bring ‘em over,’ I said.
“Will do,” she said, departing again. “Thanks.”
Mama Cass took her spot at the center of the mattress as the other pups demonstrated their deference allowing her to settle comfortably before ploughing their way beneath the blankets like famished snowplows. Spouse snuggled up to me and the warming mound of dog fur as the candles continued to flicker. I could feel that initial flow of biological heat, which was encouraging. At the same time, I spied Turquoise as she wandered towards us, slowly, purposely. What was her intent?
“She’s coming over,” I whispered. Though I wasn’t necessarily awaiting permission, I would however honor a spouse-nurse veto. Her judgment usually reigned true more often than not.
“At her pace please.” She too spoke in a whisper.
“Yes, m’aam.” I was schooled in the art of deference. “But…” I started as Turquoise sidled up to me, her snout but inches from my face, her warm exhale unusually pleasant for a dog.
“Guess she really likes you,” spouse mused aloud.
Without intent, my hand mysteriously touched upon her head with the very same pomp and circumstance as earlier: the calming flow of lava up my arm and the cacophony of multiple voices sprinting down the auditory nerves and taking my brainstem hostage. Not that this clarified the message, if there was one. It all came to me garbled and without any translation or curator.
“You okay?” Spouse asked, feeling my entire body tense.
“Think so…uh, but it’s happenin’ again.”
“Voices?”
“Everything,” I answered. “Voices. My arm again. Not sure what…”
“I honor your welcome.” It was the same voice that came to me earlier. Calm, clear, inviting and female.
“Who are you?” I said aloud.
“You hearin’ it again?” Spouse asked with concern, while the dogs continued to settle in with gentle but persistent nudges. Playing nice.
“You didn’t?” I hoped for a turnaround.
“Sorry love…no.”
“Where you from?” I queried aloud.
“Across the water,” she responded, calmly and matter-of-factly.
“Water? What damned water?” My patience frayed. I could only think of Mark Spitz who had tried earlier to frothfully divide Sasha’s Red Sea.
“The waters of faith,” she responded serenely.
Now this was evolving into a gospel meeting for which my patience had little occupancy for.
“And what’s that s’pose to mean?” I restrained my angst best I could. But it had been a genuinely trying day.
“You okay?’ Spouse asked, feeling the tremble of my anger that not even the lava flow could contain. I simply shook my head ‘no’ in mini-twitches.
“They send me,” she said softly. “You say me Turquoise. They say me empathy.”
My face unraveled into a fishing tangle of misery. Enigmatically knotted and surreal. What was that supposed to mean? I started to respond verbally…but was stopped.
“Need no word. I hear words direct.”
“You mean…”
“Yes,” she answered my question before it was even asked…(to be continued)
Subscribe for FREE email updates on the ongoing Adventures of Sasha’s Gang: https://store.sashaspr.com/blogs/news)