Moving My Daughter from Indiana to California: The Drive from Hell

It was an exciting day for my daughter, and yet sad for me. We were going to drive her, all her belongings, her 6 cats, a 110-pound dog and a 90-pound dog from Indiana to California. I vividly recall the date: Sept. 12, 2001, the day after our great American tragedy.

My daughter had rented a U-Haul, visited the veterinarian for one last check up of all the animals, and packed all the boxes. At five o'clock I arrived with the packing crew, both of them. The rental trailer seemed quite large until we started to put everything in, and then found that some things had to be left. In a final moment of desperation, "the crew" tied two chairs to the trailer hitch and covered it with black plastic. This was the first warning that the Travel Fairy was sending us.

The back of the SUV had a cage for the cats, and one dog sat in the front with the driver, while the other lay in the back with the passenger. It was time to pack the animals. The caramel-colored Mixed Breed Great Pyrenees was missing. Up and down the streets we drove calling her name. I finally saw a young man whose eyes were literally popping out of his head. "Are you looking for a big dog? I mean a really, really big dog?" I responded with a nod yes. "That big dog is down that alley, he almost came up to me, but I ran real fast."

I drove down the alley, opened the door, and called. "Meesha, bye-bye." She immediately got into the car. This was the second warning from the Fairy of travel.

Once we got everyone into the car, my daughter told me to help her give Mariah a pill. The vet knew that this part Dane, part Rottweiler, or Rotten Dane, was hyper and prescribed a tranquilizer. Mariah got to lie in the back with the cats and me on the first leg of the trip, eventually drooling all the way from the effects of the pills.

As we pulled out of the driveway, "the crew" shouted for us to stop. The back tire on the trailer was low. Warning number three and we hadn't left home yet.

The first and second hours were uneventful. The third hour was quite a different story. We blew a tire outside of Chicago and had to call for road assistance. By now Mariah in all of her doggy slobber was not appreciating the looks of Meesha, and while we waited she did something quite out of character. She jumped in the front seat and attempted to fight her friend. This may have been a first but wasn't going to be the last. Thank God, the cats slept quietly.

We drove all night and into the next morning before stopping. My daughter had told me she called ahead and made arrangements with hotels that allowed animals. She did not tell me that she forgot to mention how many animals she had. I received that information when I went to register. She had booked the room in my name for the AARP discount.

"Mom, you might want to get a room on the main floor and not one that we have to walk through the lobby."

"Is there something I should know?"

"I listed one dog, but forgot to tell them about both....and the cats."

We discreetly, well, as discreetly as you can when something weighs that much, carried the cat cage with the six cat's in it up the stairs, brought in one dog at a time after they had a walk, and ordered a pizza and salad. Just as there was a knock on the door Mariah jumped on Meesha again. With one of us attempting to pull the attacking dog to the bathroom and the other answering the door, the room became chaos. I either tipped the delivery boy $2 or $12 but I didn't care what denomination of money I gave him, I wanted him gone.

In the morning every thing was as clean as it had been the night before. Loading the animals was no problem, leaving the lot was. Another car had come in the middle of the night and parked directly behind the trailer. We attempted to maneuver out, to no avail, when a friendly face came to inspect our predicament. He went to the front desk, found the room number, and got them to move their car. We were on our way at last.

Two hours on the road and the trailer had another flat tire. Luckily we had packed a lot of food items, bottled water, and animal treats. Everyone got exercise, and I continued to wipe the drool from Mariah. The drive to South Dakota was relatively uneventful, except for the occasional growl from the normally sweet Mariah.

After getting off the toll road for gas, and getting back on, we discovered many miles later we were going the wrong direction. We stopped at a small gas station a little after midnight, refilled the tank and emptied ours. I noticed Mariah was agitated at people outside of the car.

It was my turn to drive. I hate driving anyone else's car, but that was why I came. There was construction on the entrance and exit ramps, and in the middle of the ramp Mariah jumped over the seat to attack her long time friend, Meesha. I maneuvered the car, my daughter attempted to pull this 110-pound bed of anger off the other dog, and I used my right hand to push her away.

My hand was caught in the dogfight. Teeth clenched down and ripped through the flesh. I pulled to the side of the on ramp as we calmed the dogs down. Flashing lights appeared in the window. A police officer stepped up to the car. "What do you think you're doing? There's no pulling over here."

I lifted my bloodied hand and arm. "Now move on." He said, not even looking at the damage. To add insult to injury, my daughter handed me the slobber rag to wrap the profusely bleeding hand. We found one of Meesha's canines on the seat.

remember standing outside the gas station screaming and crying at the same time. "I won't go on. You will just have to get a social worker job in South Dakota. I'll live here too, because I won't go one inch further."

After washing the wound, it didn't look quite as lethal and changing out of the blood stained clothes helped. We wrapped the hand. Stitches would have been advisable, but would they hold the dog for quarantine?

My daughter took another leg of the drive. Mariah was in back with me. "Cuddle up to her Mom, she feels bad. You can see it."

"Yeah, I want Cujo to be real close to me. Sure I'll cuddle."

Mariah did feel bad and laid her head on my arm to sleep. Slobber wetted my clean shirt.

We stopped at the first town when morning broke, to find a veterinarian. Just as we had begun to suspect, the tranquilizer was causing Mariah's outbursts. Meesha had a physical, and the vet said that the loss of the tooth was more genetic than anything.

An hour later we arrived at Salt Lake City. The young man was more than solicitous, allowing us to stay beyond the noon checkout to sleep. The Olympics were soon to be held there and he could have rented the space easily. We slept for 5 hours and began to reorganize. When we realized the make shift chair carrier, on the trailer hitch was falling apart, we attempted to repair the bungies. Several wonderful truck drivers that were stopping for the evening, drove us around to get new ones, helped with car repairs, and even walked one of the dogs. America was friendly. Despite all the horrible problems, that fact was even more evident after 9-11.

The young hotel clerk, the owner's son, was wise to us; our menagerie of animals (The cat's got to leave the cage at overnight stops.) had been peeking out the windows, watching us. He asked to see the room before we left. We had all her household cleaning items available, and used them before we had checked out. The room was almost cleaner than when we arrived and we passed the inspection. We were back on the road when, another flat tire on the trailer. Again we called road service. This time they found the problem. The wrong tires had been put on one side of the trailer. Two problems now solved.

By now we had the animals under control, so we stopped for a real meal, in a casino. The animals were asleep in the car, like babies. The two dogs were curled up next to each other. We wasted another hour in the casino and were back on the road.

Our last stop before our final destination was a diner, right before the mountains and the dreaded "Donner's Pass". Again, everyone was our neighbor, the country had united and there were no strangers. The truckers told us the best way to handle the drive down into California, and we were on our way. Aside from Meesha still trying to hide around the feet of the driver, the rest of the trip was a snap.

My daughter had not found a place to live, but set up temporary residency at a seedy rent by the week motel. Luckily the dogs were a deterrent to any harm. I prepared to fly home. My flight was booked for the first day that planes began to fly again.

I was asked by a fellow passenger whether I wasn't just a little afraid to fly. "What if there was a terrorist on the plane?"

After the drive from Indiana to California, my response was, "Then I will kick some terrorist butt. I'm ready for them after this trip."