Dog Poaching, Magic Potties, and Kicking Bird by Kim Smith 

We landed in Memphis in time to head to the indoor pool for fifteen well-earned minutes. In fact, after repeated arrivals at hotels where the pools closed by 10:00 pm, that fifteen minutes spent the right way could do wonders after a long journey. A few times we even got lucky with well-intentioned individuals deliberately looking the other way so we could borrow a few extra minutes after the day’s long journey. Either that, or we got lucky with teenagers who would rather be on the phone then throw the hotel guests out of the pool to close it for the evening. In fact, after the first hotel, I smartened up and kept the plastic bag with the wet bathing suits in the front seat of the car so we could head straight for the pool without having to unpack the car first. I rescued many valuable pool minutes by doing this as well as preventing my self from landing in a padded cell with a very snug fitting jacket with buckles up the back.

The Memphis hotel was quite nice actually, clean, friendly, and it looked like it had a great breakfast bar. We’ll see tomorrow. I headed upstairs, once again to my temporary residence while replaying the whole My Cousin Vinny experience in my head. I should write to Danny Devito. Maybe we could do lunch and share our mutual experiences. I could really relate to his character, especially as I am from New York where the Yankees are worshipped and banjos are feared.

As I opened the door to our suite, I took a deep breathe as we would be staying for two whole nights. This would give us a little break from the car and we would get to go to Graceland in the morning. Slowly, one wet child after the next came through the door, followed by a wet husband. I directed them into the adjoining room where children reside. The clean, dry room would be for us and would preferably stay that way. As it was late, I directed our six little darlings to put a movie on low volume and crawl under the covers. They also had a suite which gave them more room to play monopoly. It wasn’t too long before they were all asleep and I clicked on the television to see what was going on. I am not much of a television person, but this particular evening I was too tired to read so I flipped through to see what was happening in Memphis. I passed two channels with Friends reruns, a NASCAR station, and a hunting station. Men in camouflage clothing were shooting at some kind of bird in the sky. The one narrating the channel was also one of the hunters so every few seconds the camera would kind of drop while he took a shot at the bird himself.

That was good for about thirty seconds before I moved on to the next channel. It was a local station and I was instantly intrigued. It caught my attention because I couldn’t figure out what they were doing. There were people walking around and lots of dogs. Maybe it was the Humane Society.

No, it seemed like more of a dog auction. There were dogs of all sizes and breeds. There was a beautiful German Shepard that was sold for a mere fifteen dollars. The lady in charge continued to talk about where the dogs were found and who had been caught. Some had been reunited with their owners, but unfortunately very few.

It was then that I realized that I was watching Tennessee’s version of the Serengeti only it wasn’t ivory they were after, but Golden Retrievers. I was watching the Dog Poaching Channel, thankfully part of the hotel’s cable package. I pinched myself to make sure that I hadn’t slipped into a red-wine induced travel coma, and that what I was watching was real. It was real all right. Dogs from everywhere had been recovered from the Poacher’s middlemen, bought for minimal amounts of money simply to rescue the dogs. The Poachers themselves of course managed to stay below the radar while they continued to sneak up on chocolate labs owned by five-year-olds, unhook them from leashes, open fence gates, then sell them for fifteen dollars. I got the immediate feeling that Dorothy was not in Kansas anymore. She was in the Southern Serengeti and Toto was missing.  

This would be a difficult visual to release from my mind’s eye, but I was so exhausted from our journey that I was able to roll over and fall fast asleep. The next morning we headed towards the elevators once again. We again resolved the daily issue of who got to push the button. Pushing the elevator button seems to be fairly huge for small children. Simple pleasures.

When the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, the cattle ran out and headed for the breakfast bar. It seemed as if the hotels were in a breakfast bar competition as each display was better than the next. This one even had sausage, bacon, and a waffle maker. The waffle maker was loads of fun and a hit with the older kids. They had little Dixie cups of pre-measured waffle batter all lined up in  neat little rows. How fun. After you dump the batter into the middle, you flip the whole thing over with the handle which then starts the timer. It was fool proof, which was a bonus for me as I am not a breakfast person and knew not a thing about the waffle world.

After we had stuffed ourselves with waffles smothered in strawberries and whipped cream we headed back to the car. Onward to Oklahoma. I am not exactly sure what goes on in Oklahoma, but we would soon find out. First, however, we had to drive through Arkansas, home of the world’s most deadly snakes and nuclear testing sites. As we approached the border, I searched the glove compartment for my passport but was waived through by Customs.

All I could think about is that someone would have to kill me before I would live here. I suppose that some people may think that way about New England. No, probably not.

Then, about two thirds of the way across the barren wasteland that we have labeled Arkansas it started to get better. There was a pretty lake surrounded by hills. I guess they must be the Ozarks. Let’s hope local hospitals are all stocked up on anti-venom. This was not anywhere I would want to stop by the road side to pee. Imagine squatting along the road behind a tree and having some deadly snake bite you on the ass. We would have to find one of those highway emergency phones as there is no cell phone service way out here. They would then have to helicopter you to the nearest medical facility while lying on your stomach in order to keep your ass elevated so that the venom would flow down toward your legs and not toward the brain. The medics would then have to make an incision over the bite in order to drain the deadly venom and minimize the poison seeping into your system. This could certainly put a damper on a family vacation. We’ll wait for the next rest area.

The five-year-old at this point was doing her own version of the Irish Step dance in the back seat, as she had to pee so badly by the time we reached a rest area. Before the car had even come to a complete stop, I grabbed her by the hand and raced her to the women’s room. We were now officially in Oklahoma. I looked around while I was waiting for our littlest to take care of business. It was very clean and nice in here. It even smelled good. When our little one was finished I heard a loud flush followed by an window-shattering scream. Our five-year-old came flying out of the bathroom stall with her pants around her ankles, clutching my thigh. “It flushed by itself Mommy,” she cried. We have technology to thank for my traumatized Kindergartner I thought to myself. I then knelt down, wiping her tears and zipping her pants, and explained that this was a magic potty and they only have magic potties in special places. “Oh,” she said. “Do you think we’ll get to try any other magic potties?” From that point on, a rest area was considered inferior and well below the standards of my five-year-old if it was not equipped with magic potties.

Then . . . onward we went, heading for the Grand Canyon, one of the seven natural wonders of the world and of my husband. I had a visual picture that was already beautiful in my mind’s eye, but I will admit that I was looking forward to seeing this very colorful, majestic, Divine hole in the ground.

Of course once again, objects appeared smaller on the map then they were in reality as we crossed yet another endless state. Oklahoma was different than I had expected. It was very Dances with Wolves-ish. I could almost picture Kicking-Bird and his posse of breath-takingly gorgeous native American men in loin cloths coming up and over the hills chasing buffalo. My imagination was running wild as I pictured wild horses, tee-pees, and rain dances. I love Oklahoma.

Unfortunately for me, I didn’t know that I would love Oklahoma, so I booked only one night there. This was also the nicest hotel so far with the nicest pool so far. The people were all so friendly, and for an added

bonus, it was the Tuesday night social hour at the Holiday Inn and Suites. Once each week the hotel had a little cocktail hour for the guests. The wine was complimentary as were the shrimp, cheese and crackers, and other goodies that were awaiting my hungry tribe. What luck that we landed at the Holiday Inn on a Tuesday.  I wish we could stay here for a few more days.

The next morning made it even harder for me to leave with yet another delectable breakfast bar. In case you haven’t realized it by now. Our family is all about the buffets. We love to eat. It is just one of those simple pleasures that we have embraced from the get go. And the hot tub was so nice. I must have soaked in there for an hour. The next morning my fingers still resembled raisins. We are also all about the hot tubs. Buffets and steamy hot tubs pretty much define heaven for my crew. 

Before long I heard myself being beckoned from a table across the room loaded with Oklahoma State Troopers. In fact, as I looked around, I realized that it was wall to wall troopers. There must be a convention or something. I looked down and realized that I had my New York State Troopers shirt on and this is what they were noticing. I love how policemen and firefighters stick together. It is a bond that is as strong as family. I explained that though I was not a cop myself, that my mother worked with NYPD, especially following our nation’s tragedy on September 11^th when so many policemen and firefighters were lost and wounded. We talked for quite a while. Some of them had been involved with the rescue of the victims from the Oklahoma City bombing. They spoke of it as if it were yesterday, recounting every detail. When it was time to leave, we said our good-byes and those nice troopers gave each of our six kids an official Oklahoma State Trooper Pin as well as one for my mother. I love Oklahoma. I must come back someday, if for no other reason than to visit the Cowboy Museum again and stay in this hotel on a Tuesday.

                Stay tuned for the Cross-Country Trip Part III . . .    

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