A while back, on one of those “I’d better catch an Uber home” evenings, a friend and I decided to go on a road trip up north. Neither of us had been away for what seemed like decades and the lure of the (ahem) open road sounded rather enticing. I’ll be Jack, you can be Neal. Or, at a pinch, you can be Thelma and I’ll be Louise, given I quite fancied the ragged strip of denim Susan Sarandon wore so artfully around her neck.
I had an ulterior motive to go north as I wanted to interview a couple of poets for The Writer’s Notebook, a podcast series that only had one brief: me talking to writers (that’s about as far as I got with the brainstorming). The poets in question, Sam Hunt and Bob Orr, lived relatively near to each other, so we could interview Sam in the Kaipara and then continue north and interview Bob in the Hokianga where he’d kindly offered to put us up the night.
It was a pretty loose arrangement; we thought we might be away for a week or so, and there was the possibility of a couple of nights sleeping in a tent. A list was drawn up which included bedding and a plug-in mosquito repellent. In the frenzy of forgotten youth I completely forgot about Luna, the little West Highland White terrier, would-be savager of chickens and chaser of rabbits, but conveniently dismissed any reservations I might have. I did, however, offer to take my car which more closely resembles a kennel. My friend said we could take hers, which was nice of her, but probably ill-advised.
The traffic north out of Auckland had been gridlocked the day before departure so we made a plan to leave no later than 6:30am. That would give us 4-5 hours if we got stuck in traffic and we’d arrive at Sam’s around lunchtime. To save mucking about I brought all my things out onto the footpath and by 6:15am anyone passing might have thought I was moving house so vast was the assemblage, including a large suitcase, various carryalls with duvets, pillows and sheets, the dog basket, food, gifts, laptop, and Luna, eagerly standing by for an adventure.
There was absolutely no traffic at all, the roads were empty, and by 9am we were within shouting distance of Sam’s. We sat in the car beside a downcast little park, the grass still damp from dew, trying to decide what to do. We couldn’t go for a walk as dogs were forbidden on the nature trail so we took Luna for a desultory wander through the swings and then headed back to the car.
As the podcast was being filmed (by us, using a Handycam and two iPhones), I thought I might as well change into something more presentable than the clothes I’d grabbed when I got out of bed. As a sartorial combination they made no sense at all, even to me. A man was cleaning out the public toilets so I hauled the suitcase out of the car onto the gravel, it landed squarely on my foot, and I hopped about swearing before rifling through myriad ridiculous choices, including three pairs of boots and the hairdryer which I hadn’t used for years.
Just as I’d started to disrobe, positioning myself behind the open car door in case a passing truck driver might happen to spot me from on high, a car drove into the empty car park and pulled up right beside me. I hastily jumped into the car and finished dressing in the passenger seat, deciding, after glancing at my face in the rear-view mirror, that I wasn’t particularly good at makeup.
Three coffees and a shared quiche later from the little café across the road we arrived at Sam’s. There were sheep milling about on the driveway so I kept Luna on a lead until we got inside and up the stairs. Sam was looking handsome (he told me to say that) and we had a great time, although we’d given little thought to setting up the camera gear, having adopted a ‘she’ll be right’ attitude from day one. Consequently, the recording is decidedly ropey including the sound effects of the washing machine, people walking through shot, and various other crimes against broadcast. Luna lay in the corner, a model of good dog behaviour. Sam’s influence no doubt.
On we went, to stay the night at my friend’s son’s house on a lifestyle block. They had a lovely big black lab-cross called Loui who over the course of the evening took a dislike to Luna and decided the little white usurper was not welcome. This took the form of several heart stopping lunges and ferocious skirmishes where we would all leap up out of our seats yelling loudly due to the possibility of entrails being ripped out. Luna was eventually put in the car – given it was Loui’s house – and I left all the windows down because it was so hot. There was a sudden downpour and I dashed outside and guiltily wiped down all the doors and the seats and let Luna out for a few minutes. She started eating grass and retching nervously which is what I felt like doing myself by the time we left. Bye. Sorry. Thanks. Sorry about the dog.
Bob’s was next. Luna trotted off happily exploring Bob’s garden which was fully fenced in, so we left her to it. After the interview we were treated to an incredible meal of roast pork that Bob and his wife Felicity had prepared for us, and we sat outside on the veranda overlooking the harbour talking well into the night.
The next morning Luna disappeared just as we were about to leave. I’d left the gate open as I ferried my enormous holiday necessities out to the car feeling a little bit woozy from the night before and the mid-morning heat. She appeared minutes later, grinning from ear to ear, smeared in something wet and brown. Bob took one look and reckoned it was donkey poo as he’d got a pile in for the garden, but I’d know the smell of human shit anywhere thanks to several deeply unpleasant incidents in a park in west Auckland next to where the freedom campers hung out. And, anyway, the smell is quite distinctive. Gagging, and holding her at arm’s length I ran straight to the shower and tried cleaning her with soap but couldn’t see very well as I didn’t have my glasses on. I used my own towel to dry her (honestly, Bob) and she then delighted in shaking herself and rubbing her face in the carpet by the front door before I managed to frisbee her onto the back seat of the car. It didn’t take long to realise I’d done a half-arsed job. “The dog smells,” my friend noted, applying lipstick.
Luna was still looking pleased with herself as we headed for the car ferry, happily unaware of the incident that was about to unfold less than an hour later with the big broad-shouldered monster dog lounging outside the fish and chip shop just waiting for a little city slicker to pass by.
Karyn Hay will be in conversation with Steve Braunias at Q Theatre in Auckland at 4pm on Saturday, February 10 for the launch of The Writer’s Notebook podcast. Tickets $25.
