The small joy of a teensy tiny hotel room coffeemaker are percolating next to me, as I sit in a small 'suite' in Jefferson City MO. My fridge has the staples, my suitcase is leaned up against one wall, my tee shirts are stacked in anticipation.... of a brand new hairy, woofy, drooly roommate. He or she will prance or slink into Room One twenty-nine, hours from now.
The trip from home to St Louis started very early Saturday morning, and it was great to spend the day with my dear friends there, and ther families, and their dogs, who were looking at me -- small dogs -- with l;argew clear eyes and short fast-breathing breaths, saying, 'you have no idea what you're doin', man! but pet me, until you do!'
But I finished.
The drive to Jeff City from the Gateway City was easy -- flat and green, hot air past us, two hours of billboards and McDonalds; churches and porn shops. The fellas treated me like a king and, when they dropped me off for class, took one of my keys, ran to the grocery, and stocked me up a bit (since they had a car, and I do not) at a grocery store called Hyvee. I thought I caught Hyvee once on a roadtrip.... maybe not? Hard to recall. Anyway, the guys were incredible -- utterly supportive, loving, brotherly... and it was fantastic to have them here. Then they took off... as I sauntered shyly into orientation.
Of course, I was -- as ever -- 30 seconds late. I'm always 30 seconds late. As I write this, I am eyeing the clock: I am 30 seconds ahead, but will lose a minute soon. Maybe I won't spellcheck and will get there in time.
I walk in and it feels like Mississippi or Amarillo -- southern accents abound. No one there speaks ANY Hebrew. City folk... there are a few of us, and it's all the 20-30 somethings.
There are about a dozen of us receiving dogs in this class -- fewer than I thought -- and The Diabetics include some folks my age -- well, I still say people in their mid to late twenties are 'my age' though I am closer to the age of their fathers, truly... Some are here solo like myself, one is with her mom, another is with his wife.
Then there are the families. I sat next to a mom and dad from a southern sunshiney state -- likely a good deal younger than me, but with the done Florida hair and stressed faces from dealing with their three year old's Type One, that makes them seem a decade past me. There are a handful of kids.
We sat in class, excited seeming, still, rapt, watching each other and the woman who runs the camp. There are a few "oh-oh-OH!" types among us.. and also a few snarkey eye rollers like me, with the good sense to be present and real and polite -- and learn something.
But she is tough seeming, smart -- knows her way, and it's the only way/ It's her show. Her husband was polite and quiet and seemed to have a big heart too -- they must, to do this consistently, right? Her daughter -- she has a gaggle of kids, more than a few of them Type One -- watched attentively. She's a teen with a diabetes dog of her own, a gorgeous yellow lab sitting under the chair. We sat in class for four hours of orientation stuff, basics, with a few breaks. The kids at one point were herded by a trainer into the hall, to walk stuffed dogs on leashes. At that point, the yellow lab popped out in front of the Headmaster's daughter, and stared at her, HARD, unmoving, as if she was holding a piece of steak out front. After about 45 seconds, the daughter noticed the dog, whipped out her blood tester, and tested. Her mom stopped talking.
'Where are you?'
'100, but I guess I'm about to get low.'
'Great! There's some juice back there...'
'Good dog!' the daughter said, and gave the dog some treats, as she got up to fetch some juice. Then Mister Magic Lab circled and sat back under her chair, nose on paws.
The room howled; I nearly fell off my chair in tears, and couldn't think of anything but that moment as we drove as a group to a BBQ restaurant for a dinner and such.
Monday... we meet our dogs.
