Day Four: Wake Up in the Morning Feeling Like P. Diddy to Investigate the Murder Ducks and Battle the Irishman
Last night around dinnertime Petey got Tik Tok by Ke$ha stuck in her head. Except that she doesn’t actually know Tik Tok. She knows two lines, so it sounded a lot like this: WAKE UP IN THE MORNIN FEELIN LIKE P. DIDDY……long pause……long pause…….FORE I LEAVE BRUSH MY TEETH WITH A BOTTLE OF JACK…..long pause….long pause…..WAKE UP IN THE MORNIN FEELIN LIKE P. DIDDY.
I mean. Who needs Sirius when you can listen to this forseveral hours in a 200 square foot space? Eventually she passed out and Zack and I were left to spend the nightfighting over the single blanket that I packed. Because yes, my oversights inpacking are starting to rear their ugly heads.
At the crack of dawn, I snuck outside to do a little yoga onour roomy concrete slab, which was met with more judgment from the neighborsthan one would expect in Sedona. Partway through, the screaming started backup.
THE SCREAMING.
From somewhere to the left of us, a steady screaming beganlast night and finally dropped off around dark. It’s coming from near the crickand every so often something like a quack can be heard along with the torturedshrieks. There’s valid concern that there are murder ducks fighting to thedeath from somewhere by the adults only section of the park. I’ve seriouslynever heard anything like this. Walking to the bathroom I keep my wits aboutme, ever fearful that a duck shadow will appear and an ambush will occur.
I tried to sneak back into the RV, but when I opened thedoor I saw that Petey was laying there with her eyes open, staring off with thedead behind the eyes look that she greets every day with and which also scaresthe heck out of me. We locked eyes for a second. And then I couldn’t helpmyself.
“Wake up in the mornin feelin like……” I began.
She laid there for a split second and then her butt cheeks shot up into the air.
“P. DIDDY!” Twerk, twerk. “FORE I LEAVE BRUSH MY TEETH WITH A BOTTLE OF JACK!”
Evan groaned from his bunk and we were officially ready togreet the day. Outside, the battle of the murder ducks raged on.
We hiked it into downtown Sedona for the morning, a place where tourist shops mingle with new age centers and art galleries. In Sedona we discovered that there are two types of people in this world: those who have the fortitude to flip through three thousand tank tops with the OM symbol on them and those who don’t. The other three members of my family being those who lack the fortitude, we set out on the walk back to camp.
Walking with Petey is challenging, because it is likewalking with a drunk monkey. She veers left to right and will randomly dart infront of you and slow down. She also inherited my lack of spatial awarenesswhich means that she cannot gauge how close someone is or if she should move.Zack, being ever wary that she might walk into a fellow tourist or randomlystep out into traffic (if you can predict it you can prevent it) becomes hypervigilant on these walks which Petey responds to like the true tween that she isand so it all sounds something like this:
“CAR!”
“I KNOW!”
“SO MOVE OVER!”
“I AM!”
“REALLY? IS THAT MOVING OVER?”
“WELL DID I GET HIT?”
“PERSON!”
“I KNOW!”
Turns out you can do this for miles. And miles. Evan,limping behind with the bad foot that I am starting to believe is faked, wasspared most of it. To distract everyone from this fight for survival, I broughtup the fact that the Irishman still hadn’t responded to my reports of themissing sewage whatchamacallit or other repairs.
We continued fuming over this as we waited outside theoffice for the Pink Jeep to pick us up for our tour of Red Rock in CoconinoState Park. Outside the office we noticed a sign that finally explained themurder ducks. “What’s all that screaming?” the sign began. Turns out, the treesaround the creek are where blue herons come to nest and raise babies. The parkowner has tried tying brightly colored streamers to the trees to discouragethem, but apparently blue herons really like to party and felt more welcomethan ever. Baby blue herons spend their days screaming. They scream for food,they scream when they are angry at siblings, and then they scream more food.The mother herons scuffle about tirelessly trying to provide enough food andsquash any fights. I haven’t thought about hugging a blue heron before, but nowit’s all I can think about. We are sisters in the struggle.
The Pink Jeep showed up, driven by a guy who let us knowwithin fourteen seconds of boarding that if he had to do the same tour all daylong he would blow his brains out. We were treated to a fifteen-minutedissertation on why Pismo Beach is better than the desert, but he calmed downafter that and was pretty fun to hang out with. The jeep took us up a terrain sobumpy that Petey had to hold on to her glasses. Like the champ that he is, Evanfell asleep. Like passed out, headdown, a little snoring asleep. I seriously don’t know if we should let him geta license.
Anyway, the views from up top were incredible.
On the way down the hill, we had our first sign of life fromthe Irishman, who told us that never in his 3500 rentals had he ever includedany kind of angled whatchamacallit and that we had to just stick the sewagetube in the sewage hole.
“I tried at the last campsite,” Zack worried. “It wouldn’tstick in the hole. Does he mean that I have to…… hold the tube over the hole and hope that nothing spills?”
“Oh my gosh. He wants you to COUSIN EDDIE IT!” We stared ateach other in horror. I have not packed enough latex gloves for a situationlike this.
I responded to the Irishman that surely there had to be away to fit the tube into the hole. Maybe he could send us a YouTube video of howthe attachment is supposed to work.
The response I got is probably what I should’ve expectedfrom a man who throat punches homeless guys in alleys.
“I am not sure how to find a video of sticking a tube in ahole. You need to stick the tube in the hole. Find the end of the tube that isnot attached to the RV and put it in the hole.”
Oh, he did not just sass me from his trailer on BoulderHighway. Not today.
I was feverishly typing my response when Zack looked over myshoulder.
“……. apparently you believe that I am few government formsaway from qualifying for a helper monkey. I assure you I am not. I understandsticking a hose in a hole. I do not understand sticking a hose into a hole thatit is smaller than itself and clearly needs some kind of adapter that you wereto cheap to supply in your pile of junk. Fortunately, I also do understand howRVshare reviews, yelp, trip advisor, and better business bureau operate. “
“Stop it. I’ll call him when I get back to camp. Please don’tsend it. He’ll report this as stolen or something.” Zack is ever the voice ofreason.
***Sidebar Nation – exceptthat I actually am formidable on Yelp. What began as a two-year personal battlewith the CVS on Town Center and Charleston morphed into Yelp Elite status andfrequent invitations to Yelp events. So there. I may not open carry a gun or fightvagrants, but I can whip up a snarky review in. no. time.
When we got back to our RV Zack called the Irishman and thetwo of them discovered together that the hose does indeed fit in the hole atthis campsite. The smaller hole at the last campsite was apparently a fluke,something the Irishman claims he has never seen before.
I don’t trust him.
In tonight’s betrayal, I’m making tacos for dinner but withchickpeas which is sure to be met with a great deal of disappointment and abuseaccusations. Tomorrow we are off to Slide Rock and then the long drive toCortez, Colorado where I will finally get to see Mesa Verde.
Keep on trucking!
Number of dogs pet so far: 13 and 1 desert tortoise.