First published in the Tri Town Transcript Jul 3, 2017
By Esther C. Baird
Regular readers may recall that a few years ago we brought the Snow Crusher into our family. It was a black Mini Cooper Countryman that was designed to go fast and perform well in blizzards. It was a great car… when our girls were child-sized and our dogs came in the singular.
But now that our girls are growing into actual adult-sized people, and our giant Bernese Mountain dog, Blue Ears, has an even larger brother, Moose, we were the neighborhood clown car. Except clowns seem to enjoy being smushed together.
We began to cast about for the next vehicle that could accommodate giant dogs and children while also driving (not tobogganing) in the snow.
Personally, I was mostly interested in comfort. I am very much done with feeling every crack and seam of the cratered ditch we affectionately call Route 1. My terms were simple: I wanted a middle- aged mom car. You can roll your eyes all you want. I’ll be waving at you as I drive away in my Volvo.
It’s white and sparkly, and all our creatures fit in it. I’ve named it “The Dancing Comet” as a nod to its home country’s greatest band, and my intent to be a white blur regardless of snowy conditions. But rock star qualities aside, most importantly, my seat has lumbar support and my steering wheel is heated. Smirk away younger moms. I’ll see you in a decade.
This morning was our inaugural drive. It’s Vacation Bible School in our world, so we are at church every morning with 250 sticky, wet kids who sing Bible songs so loud we’ve created a sonic boom over the church. VBS is a week of great joy, and extreme crazy.
Including this odd conversation I had with my friend yesterday in the church courtyard.
“I have a pack of coyotes… a mama and her babies! They run and play all over our yard and are cute, but, I think the mama wants to eat me,” she whispered.
I did what anyone would do when not actually living out that situation: I laughed at her.
“I called animal control,” she continued, using a conspiratorial tone, which was odd because we weren’t conspiring. I didn’t have coyotes in MY yard. I was laughing about HER coyote problem. “They told me that I needed to cover the territory with shiny metal objects to scare them, and dog poop to mark it as off limits.”
I kept nodding, but was losing the thread of her story. She stared at me. I stared at her. What!?? “So…” she said. “I was wondering if I could have some of yours?”
I had no coyotes. I mean, I knew they were around but…
Oh!!!
She meant the dog poo. Yeah, I had that. In spades.
“Seriously? You want Blue and Moose’s poop???”
She nodded. “It will scare the coyotes away.”
“Um, it will scare your entire neighborhood away,” I clarified. “But I have quite literally a ton of it.” “That’d be great,” she replied.
“Ok then,” I said, feeling like I’d fallen into the rabbit hole, or rather, the coyote den.
And then last night, as The Dancing Comet sat pristine and untouched in our garage, I realized I would be driving it, for the first time as its owner, loaded with Bernese Mountain dog poop.
You know, that new car smell except… different.
This morning I pulled into church. My friend was walking towards me with a giant bucket and I popped the trunk.
“Thanks again,” she said, smiling as if I as lending her a blender.
“Oh sure, no big deal,” I replied as I swung the giant trash bag into her bucket. She sighed. “I have a face mask and rubber gloves to wear when I spread it.”
I nodded. “You’ll need it.”
She paused. “Oh hey, your new car is just beautiful. You must love it!”
I smiled. “I do.”
And that’s the bottom line. Here in this phase of parenting, I haul around a lot of strange stuff, much of it is super gross and oversized. But that’s cool, because I’m comfortable. And when my favorite early ’80s Swedish band sings out from the radio, I’ll be rocking out with my great stereo and dancing from my extra padded, ergonomically correct seat!
Wave, and maybe hold your nose, when you see us streak by!