Abbey of the Jungle
The excitement of this trip is surpassed only by my trepidation. Insects the size of toaster ovens; moths with wingspans greater than a ceiling fan; snakes dropping out of trees intent on slowly strangling the life out of me before swallowing my limp body, whole; flesh-eating bacteria and parasitic worms gaining entrance through an open wound or body cavity; an errant band of Zika carrying mosquitos. Oh, and I’ve never been on an airplane before and know nothing about them.
A second bowl of kibble for dinner helps to calm my jittery nerves (and fill my little tummy).
The airport is awash with wild-eyed humans hurrying toward flights that will no doubt deliver them to cities exotic and pedestrian alike, ourselves included. Mom and dad are each pulling a suitcase and I have my dog backpack filled with a food bowl and treats strapped to my back. We walk through the terminal and head toward the gate, ready to catch our flight to Iquitos, Peru, with a final destination of the Amazon jungle.
Mom decided to leave Lahni behind to guard the house, and since she hates to even ride in the car to the grocery store, she’d freak if she knew she was going to be stuck in a metal tube for hours and hours with a bunch of strange people. She’d then spend the next two weeks barking at every creature that roams the jungle. How annoying would that be after an hour or so?
Me, I’m happily curled up under dad’s seat just like the good dog I am, as we thunder down the runway at Lindbergh Field and hit takeoff speed. Newton’s law of gravity loosens its grip, and much like a tennis ball dropping out of Lahni’s mouth, the earth falls away beneath us. It's scary and thrilling at the same time.
Dad and mom get settled into their seats and are offered a cocktail and warm nuts, while the cute flight attendant offers me a chew toy. I don’t tell her that I want nothing to do with some gross, used toy that god-knows how many other dogs have had in their germ-filled mouths, so I just give her a smile as a thank you and leave the offered slimy, stuffed, rat-like creature on the floor of the plane and fall asleep.
Unfolding myself after a 6 hour nap, I find I have the range of motion and flexibility of a steel beam. Hoping to work the kinks out of my body, mom, dad and I stiffly shuffle our way to the terminal exit and search for an Uber stand. During the 10-hour layover we have in Miami, dad booked a portion of our time to take a tour through the alligator-infested waters of the Florida Everglades. It’s probably another good reason to have left Lahni at home. We have 6” lizards running around our yard that scare her to death, so I can imagine what a 12’ long alligator would do to her little wussy self.
Zipping around in the Everglades in an airboat is kinda’ like riding in a convertible with the top down while standing up on the front seat – bugs hitting me in the face as the wind rushes passed, my lips flapping wildly in the stiff breeze. The alligators don’t scare me (well . . . maybe a little bit), fortunately though, just like the little lizards back home, they take off running any time we get close.
We leave Miami and head on to Peru. It’s another long flight where again I spend the entire time curled up under dad’s seat, but without that rat-like stuffed toy to deal with. Although, every once in a while dad’ll drop some food off his plate and I manage to catch it before it has a chance to hit the ground. I gotta say, dry kibble is nothing compared to the great food they serve humans on airplanes. YUM! YUM!
After a long boat ride up the river, we finally make it to the lodge. Along the way mom and dad talk about being jet-lagged and how tired it’s made them. Me, I just look up at them and go back to sleep. I got no clue as to what being jet-lagged is.
Our room is a 2-story family suite. Upstairs there are two twin beds, a tub/shower and a walk-in closet. Downstairs is similar but with a queen bed and a small screened-in porch, which is where I hang out most of the time. The windows are made of screen cloth to help keep the bugs out, but let the airflow in. They offer me a dogs-eye view of the rainforest mere steps from our room. We’re also provided a view of the river through the cracks in the floorboards. Needless to say, the accommodations are rustic but quite pleasant, as I’m a pretty low maintenance mutt.
~~
“Hey Abbey, you wanna go for a boat ride in the jungle with your mom and me?”
GO? Did you say Go? Right now? Oh, hell yeah, dad. Let’s go! Where are we going?
I’ve no idea what a jungle is, but it can’t be any worse than every morning when Lahni is running around in our backyard barking at those damn squirrels.
“Okay, Abs, get in the front of the boat and keep an eye out for pink dolphins. Bark if you see any.”
Yeah, sure dad, whatever. But just like the jungle, I got no idea what a pink dolphin is. I’ll just sit here with the wind blowing through my long blonde locks and pretend I’m Kate Winslet in Titanic, and dad, you can pretend you’re Jack. Let’s just hope we don’t sink like the Titanic did. I never really learned how to swim, other than the dog paddle.
Today as we head up the glass-smooth river in our runabout, splashes of red bromeliad blossoms appear on the variegated forest-green landscape. In the midst of this, tiny blue and white swallows flit about while white herons swoop low over the river, their massive wings appearing to move in slow motion.
Continuing upstream, Manuel, our guide and native Amazonian diverts our canoe and with a razor-sharp machete in hand, slashes a narrow passageway through the forest. Gliding through the water, we duck and weave our way through the jungle while searching for pockets of rainforest alcoves in which to spend time searching for wildlife.
Those last two paragraphs are pretty fancy talk for a mutt who really only understands ‘time to eat,’ ‘let’s go,’ and ‘time for a bath’ (ugh!). Being an international traveller now, I try to act more sophisticated than I do walking around our neighborhood.
~~
Dad, I’m getting bored. We haven’t seen any of those dolphins you talked about, but up ahead I see one of those fancy flowers that you and mom grow.
“Mary, look at that orchid over there. Manuel, can we get closer so we can take a photo of it?”
“Sure, Andy. Let me maneuver the boat a little closer,” he responds.
As mom and dad are taking pictures, I move out of the way and head toward the back of the boat.
“If you want, you can take the orchid with you,” our guide tells us.
“Is that legal?” we ask, not wanting to break any Peruvian fish and wildlife laws. After all, having one felonious family member is enough.
“Sure, no problem,” Manuel replies. “Take it.”
Dad releases his grip on the tripod and camera as I excitedly watch him pry the plant off the branch it’s clinging to, my tail wagging with enthusiasm.
Wag, wag. Wag, wag. Wag, wag. Thunk.
<uh, oh>
SPLASH!
<gulp>
Suddenly, dad’s climbing all over me and grabbing his camera out of the water just before it disappears out of sight.
<uh, oh>
Oops. Sorry dad.
Maybe if I give my cute dog look, he won’t be too mad at me?
<grin>
“Damnit, Andy! I knew it was a mistake to take Abbey on this trip. Even though up until now she’d been pretty good, why did I let you talk me into taking your dog on this trip?” Mary demands. “Why did you think it would be a good idea? Sure, she likes to go in the car, but 15 hours in an airplane and all day long in a small boat going through the Amazon? What were you thinking?”
<GRIN>
I’m really, really, reeeeally sorry, mom, but I never know what my tail is doing back there. I’m guessing though by the look on both your face’s that this might be worse than when my tail knocks over a glass of water on the coffee table?
How about I make you guys a deal? I won’t eat for two whole days and the money you save by not feeding me can pay for your new camera and lens thingy? Is that fair? Not knowing much about money or credit cards and how all that stuff works, it’s gotta be pretty close to equal, right?
~~
For the rest of the trip I try to keep a low profile, or as low a profile as a blonde dog in the dense jungle can keep. Some days when it’s raining I stay inside and sleep. If it’s sunny, I’ll go out in the little boat with mom and dad, but if I see something I try not to get too excited and end up having my tail start wagging. No telling what that thing’s up to.
Fortunately, we never encounter any insects the size of toaster ovens; moths with wingspans greater than a ceiling fan; snakes dropping out of trees intent on slowly strangling the life out of me before swallowing my limp body, whole; flesh-eating bacteria and parasitic worms gaining entrance through an open wound or body cavity; or any errant band of Zika carrying mosquitos.
We do see a bunch of birds and a few different types of monkeys, which remind me of the squirrels back home that climb around in the neighbor’s trees. These are, of course, the same squirrels that Lahni barks at day after day after day, ad nauseam. . .
I’m guessing that after my little tail-wagging incident, I won’t be asked to go on any of mom and dad’s future adventures. That’s ok. After two weeks in the jungle I’m starting to miss ‘ole Lahni and her constant barking, so, yeah, I’m ready to go home. Besides, there’s nothing better than coming home after a long trip and plopping down in my own bed for a good night’s sleep.