New Orleans trip

[ewarp]

So... I was going through some files on my computer and found my journal entry regarding my trip to New Orleans right after last Christmas. I figured I'd post it here- someone might enjoy it...


It's 5 AM on December 26th, 2005. I'm leaving a western suburb of Chicago in the boyfriend's VW Golf with a 70 pound pit bull riding shot gun. Our destination is New Orleans. I'm reuniting Mojo with his owners who lost him in the hurricanes. I'm intending to drive til 7-8 tonight with a few decent breaks, and then wind up in New Orleans around noon the next day.

We make it out of Illinois with little incident. I was slightly apprehensive about travelling that far by myself, but Mojo, the giant pit bull, has quieted any fears I had. People detour around us when I've got him out with me.

We stop and go hiking, hop back in the car and continue cruising down I-55. BEEEEP. The car is overheating. I pull off to the side of the road and turn the car off. The dog and I go for a stroll along the side of the road. I go back after giving it some time to cool and start moving again. BEEEEP. ****.

We crawl to the next exit and get off. I grab a phonebook and start calling auto repair shops. No one's open because it's the day after Christmas. I start calling hotels inquiring about pet policies.

"No dogs."
"No pets."
"No dogs over 30 pounds."
"No pets."
"No pets."

Crap. I decide to bluff. I call all the hotels inquiring about service animal policies.

"Hi, what's your policy on service animals?"
"Circus animals?"
"No. Service animals. Seeing-eye dogs and such."
"Are you blind?"
"No. I have epilepsy. I have a seizure alert dog."
"Well, I don't rightly know. I'd have to call my boss and he's out of town."
"Well... I know in Illinois you're legally required to allow the dog. I'd hate for you to get in trouble."
"I think we can make an exception."

We settle into our hotel room for the night. Mojo hogs the bed. And snores.

I start calling auto repair places first thing in the morning.

I'm in Sikeston, MO, about equidistant from St. Louis and Memphis, which is where the nearest VW dealerships are. I'm in Missouri. Which, for all intensive purposes, may as well be considered the deep south. They don't like foreign cars.

I'm told by one mechanic that the best he can do for me is to sell me his Chevy truck.

Another suggests that I get the car towed to the nearest dealership, rent a car, and follow the car to the dealership.

I'm now standing in the office of an autoshop. I have Mojo straining at the end of his leash. The mechanic has just explained to me for the umpteenth time that he doesn't like to work on "them thur foreign cars." I stare at him, explain again why I need to get to New Orleans and offer to trade him my firstborn child if he will even make an effort to get the car running.

He breaks down and agrees to try. He thought it was the thermostat. It wasn't. He decides that it's the impellor on the water pump. He can't get the parts til the next day. I give him the go ahead.

Mojo and I walk 9 miles back to our hotel and grab a room again. The next morning, we check out and walk back to the shop. We spend the next 7 hours sitting in the shop. Apparently, they broke the new thermostat they installed. They need another one and need to order it. It won't be in until the next day. Mojo and I again complete the 9 mile hike back. A cop stops me to let me know that pit bulls are illegal in Sikeston.

I thank him and explain that I'm trying very hard to get out of Sikeston, and that if it were up to me, I'd never have stopped here anyway. He blinks, trying to figure out exactly what I meant. Mojo and I keep walking. We check back into our hotel room.

The next morning, we set out for the auto repair shop yet again. We take a different route this time. We sit for another several hours. Around 6 PM, they take it out for a test drive. No problems! I load Mojo up, thank them all profusely, and head out. We make it to Brookhaven, Mississippi before my eyeballs threaten to fall out of my head. I lie through my teeth again about Mojo being a service dog, and we blissfully pass out at a Days Inn.

We're awoken bright and early by construction outside the window. We check out, hop back in the car and start driving. We make it into New Orleans. I'm still without words regarding the situation down there. It was sobering. It was scarring. It was terrifying. It was saddening. It makes my heart ache to think about it.

I finally find his owner's home and deposit Mojo with a very appreciative and happy Mojo-mamma. I find out that she raised Mojo and bottlefed him from 4 weeks onwards. I'd be attached too. Mojo, by the way, is actually Ali. After the love we poured onto Mojo, I still can't think of him by any other name.

I make a quick round through New Orleans; mourning the city, the architecture, and the spirit that I never had the chance to know. I point the car northwards, and decide to stop for a proper meal- something I haven't had in a few days, because I've had a pit bull attached to my hip. I stop in Ponchatoula, Louisiana. It's the strawberry capitol of the world, apparently. I have a sandwich and a strawberry shake. There are high school aged kids as waitstaff. I feel old, sitting by myself, inhaling a sandwich.

I walk back out into the sunshine and get back into the car. Without Mojo, I feel lonely. I feel very far from home. I am very far from home. I hop back onto I-55 and start driving. I drive. And drive. And stop for gas occasionally. And stop for coffee. I've been in the car since about 7:30, with only a break to deliver Mojo and to have lunch. I'm stressed, lonely, and exhausted. I'm also PMSing. I'm feeling emotional about leaving Mojo, about the horrors I witnessed, about the people and animals who perished down there.

I decide that I will not spend the night alone. Rather than stopping and changing into a short skirt and setting up shop on a street corner, I drive faster. I make the Missouri/Illinois border around 10:30 PM. I've been driving for 15 hours. My eyelids feel like steel wool on my eyeballs. I stop, and catnap for 20 minutes. I run three laps around the car to get my blood flowing and continue driving.

I pull off to get gas. I'm so exhausted, everything is in slow motion. I feel as though I'm stoned. The people in the gas station all know each other, and they're talking, but fall silent when I walk in. I think I can feel their eyes on me. I think they think I'm stoned. I try to make small talk, but my words weren't in working order.

I chug my coffee and hop back in the car. I'm doing okay now. I'm even alert enough to realize that I've been listening to the same Paul Simon CD for the last 5 hours. I've never wanted to strangle a musician so badly before. Chugging coffee leads to the need to pee. I pull off on the side of the road and find a nice patch of weeds. A cop pulls over.

"Miss, please get back in your car."
Crud.
"What were you doing alongside the road."
"I was urinating, officer."
"You couldn't wait for a gas station?"
"Sir, I chugged this coffee about a half hour ago." I hold up my 24 oz styrafoam cup.
"Can I see your license and registration please?"
Double crud.
I hand it over. He swaggers back to his patrolcar, looks me up, and comes back.
"What are you doing in these parts at this hour?"
"14 hours ago I was in Louisiana. I delivered a dog to his rightful owner after they were seperated in the hurricane."
"What kind of dog?"
"A pit bull, sir."
"I've got one at home! You have a nice night, miss."

I sit, confused. Granted, it didn't take much to confuse me in the mental state I was in. I shrug and start driving. The adrenaline rush from being pulled over wakes me up a bit. I debate about staying the night at my dad's. It's about an hour closer than my home. I decide that it would take longer than an hour to get him to settle down, stop asking questions, and let me sleep.

I finally make it home at about 3 am. I've driven approximately 1200 miles in one day. I drag myself up to my bedroom, shove Saboo out of my way, kiss Joe, and pass out. Sleep has never felt so good.


(that's his photo from when we adopted him out)

[IceyBlueSibes]

What a nice little entry. Thanks for sharing that with us. I sure would be tired! Wow! Kudos to you for reuniting the family with their dog. That's wonderful!

Mojo is a handsome fella!

[oc_spirit]

Wow you are one awesome person!!!!!! I bet Mojo''s family was so happy to get him back!! You deserve a huge pat on the back for what yuo did!!

[ewarp]

You know, the whole fiasco started because I heard them discussing plans to ship Mojo on a plane. It was going to cost close to $500 to ship him, it was December, and... it was my Mojo!

This darn dog made me fall in love with bully dogs. I walked him in the local parades for Halloween and usually ended up carrying him halfway through because he'd get tired. He always was wiggly and smiley and just so happy to see everyone. If I could have, I would have kept him. I brought him home for a night or two, and he snuggled all night long. He was an ambassador of his breed, and a stellar specimen of a good dog.

Taking him down to New Orleans became my time to say thank you, to wish him well, and to repay him for all of the lives he touched in his 4 month stay in Illinois.

When we got out of the car and he recognized his neighborhood and his house after that much time and devestation... I was blown away. What a dog.

[poodlesmom]

Awwwww, what a sweet story & what a great person you are to have been so caring & committed to seeing Mojo reunited with his owner. It is people like you who make this world a wonderful place!