This one time in Prince George…

   On our trip back down to the Lower 48 from Alaska this summer, we obviously traveled through Canada. Some parts were beautiful and entertaining, others were downright scary. Like Fort Nelson for example, but that’s another story.

   We wanted to take a different route down than we did up, so we went through some different parts of British Columbia. We liked BC a lot better than Alberta. Garrett was the Master Planner and took on the task of securing hotel rooms each night for whatever town we aimed to end up in.

   Prince George, BC was our goal for Day 3 (that rhymed). I was pretty excited about it because it sounded like a big place and I was ready to integrate into society after three days of driving through Northern Canada. We listened to a weird book on tape, had plenty of road trip snacks, took turns playing with the then-9-week-old Remy, and enjoyed the scenery.

   The hotel Garrett chose was one of the nicer ones. It was more of a motel because we had our own exterior door, which was nice with Remy for insta-bathroom action. We were pooped from our 10 hour drive (weird how that works…all we did was sit) so we didn’t get out and explore Prince George. I was okay with that though because it looked like we were in a not-so-nice part of town and it was getting dark.

   The next morning, Garrett took Remy out to go #1 before hopping in the shower.

Side Note   Puppy Rule #1: your puppy will ALWAYS have to go #2 in the morning. ALWAYS.

   I was aware of this rule and was somewhat irked that he hadn’t waited it out for her to let it out, knowwhatI’msayin’. I was irked because it required me to take her out, which isn’t beyond my capabilities as a pet owner, but it meant I had to put on a bra and do something with my unwashed hair and wipe the crusty drool off my face before facing the public.

   So I did, begrudgingly. I could tell Remy was doing the sniff-along-all-the-walls-while-walking-very-fast-I-gotta-poop dance so I quickly tidied myself up, grabbed the leash, and walked outside. I was careful not to shut the door all the way because it was the kind that automatically locks you out, and I didn’t bring a key.

   The first thing I noticed was that the air smelled exactly like you’d think a rancid porta-potty filled with waste and maybe dead things mixed with rotting things would. It literally made me stop in my tracks. Even Remy hesitated and began sniffing around all huffy-like. I was honestly looking for a bag of decomposing…something sitting outside our door or perhaps a pile of garbage nearby. But there was nothing. It was THE TOWN that smelled.

   After that crude awakening, Remy and I walked over to the nearest patch of grass so she could do her business. We passed a very slender elderly man in a stained brimmed hat smoking a cigarette while sitting on a chair outside of the door next to ours. I smiled meekly in greeting and he raised his cigarette as we passed. We made it over to the tiny 4x4 patch of grass and Remy was just about to get down to business when two Dobermans came charging at us at full throttle behind the nearby chain link fence. Not a big fan of violence, Remy hot-footed it out of there and proceeded to drag me across the parking lot. We passed the old man again and he raised his cigarette once more.

   There was another patch of grass a bit farther away in the opposite direction and we decided it’d be our best bet. We arrived right as the sprinklers turned on. I tried to rush Remy by setting her down on the corner of the grass patch and saying “ok! Go! It’s ok! Go! Go! Good girl! Go poopy! Come on!” But she was completely distracted by the sprinkler and began biting the water as it sprayed both of us.

   By this time, I was getting a bit irate. We were on our way to find the next patch of grass when Remy stopped and let it all go right in the middle of the hotel parking lot. I looked around to see if anyone was watching and the old man raised his cigarette.

Great. Not that I’m “that guy” that leaves dog poop in inconvenient places, but I didn’t grab a little baggie before we left the room. In fact, I didn’t even know where they were. But now that I knew the deed had been witnessed, I had to clean it up. We scurried back to the room and Garrett was still in the shower, surprisingly. I half expected him to come looking for us because he usually takes showers that last only a few minutes. I let Remy into the room and banged on the bathroom door.

“Garrett!”

Nothing.

“GAR-RETT!”

Nothing.

“GAAARRRETTTTT?!”

“WHAT?”

“WHERE ARE THE POOP BAGS?”

“THE WHAT?”

“POOP. BAGS.”

“IBLAGAR”

“WHAT?!”

“GAR!”

   Car. Got it. So I left Remy alone in the hotel room, grabbed Garrett’s keys from the desk, stormed out of the room, slammed the door behind me, retrieved a little blue baggy from his car, marched across the parking lot to the tiny pile of puppy turds, seized them, tied up the bag, marched back to the door, opened the – locked. The door locked behind me. 

   So there I stood in Prince George, British Columbia wearing dirty sweatpants with a T-Shirt that read “Walking For Nice Assets” and holding a tiny bag full of tiny, stinky turds outside of the locked door to our hotel room where Garrett was in the shower, Remy was alone with all of our things to chew on without supervision, and an old man sat less than six feet away from me, staring.

   I slowly turned around, slid my back down the door, plopped onto the metal doorstep, and began subtly banging my elbows against the barricade behind me. I could hear Remy whining from behind the door and the shower still running. LONGEST SHOWER EVER.

   I was in no mood for small talk, but I could sense the elderly gent was excited about the opportunity to chat.

“Mornin!”

“Oh, hi, good morning”

“Didja get yourself locked out?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“That is just too bad.”

I smiled meekly again.

“Sure is a pretty day out idnit?”

The irony was killing me.

“Uhhyep! It is.”

   He continued smoking and I pretended to be really focused on a three-inch piece of thread sprouting from the seam of my sweatpants. I was also still banging my unexposed elbow against the door repeatedly. Still no rescue attempts.

“You got breakfast plans?”

That one took me off-guard.

“Um I…”

“I could get some breakfast. You want to get some breakfast?”

“I actually…” harder pounding with elbow against door “…my husband and I are…”

   And then I fell backwards onto the gritty carpet of our hotel room while Remy stepped on my face and Garrett, wearing a towel around his waist, looked down at me and said “what’re you doing out here?”