Tsunami

"There's a tsunami warning. We have to leave right now."
Up to our wrists in the fish we were deboning, our faces all reflected the same word, "What?" Followed by, "Really?" Followed by "Oh my God." We knew nothing except that we had to get to high ground. We had minutes to pack a backpack with valuables and leave. It was heartbreaking but we had to leave the animals in their enclosures; despite our protests it was insisted that we get ourselves somewhere safe, find our more facts, and then see what can be done.

"There's been an 8.7 earthquake off the coast of Indonesia, roughly the same spot that destroyed this island years ago."
Images of Japan were flashing through my head and for several moments I really thought we were goners. Mimmi, our 11-year old volunteer, was in tears and I would have been close behind her if it wasn't for the worry about the animals and how we could save them. High ground for us was only about a five minute walk up hill and we could see the shelter.

"We have two hours before it's supposed to hit us."
Should I be writing a will? Should I be calling my parents? It was too early to call them and I didn't want to cause unnecessary panic because we still didn't know what would happen or what the effects on this island would be so I settled for an e-mail. But two hours meant we had time to focus our energies on the animals. We took all the sick cats out of isolation and put them in the van and drove that to the top of the hill. We took the little puppy, Tey, because he's quite small and inable. We took Denver because he's been sick and hooked up to fluids and is on the weak side. We took Shao Lee because she's in quarantine and doesn't go out with the other dogs. We took Vinny because he's scared and acts aggressively as such. All our sweet, wonderful, healthy animals were left in their enclosures but every one of us was prepared to run back down to the shelter and release them should waves be seen. Up on our hill we had a view of the ocean and every eye was glued to it. Our eyes played tricks on us and every shadow was a growing wave headed our way.

"I just looked online and we're supposed to be hit at 6:49."
"What time is it now?"
"6:44"
Five minutes...until what? It was the not knowing that kept us on edge. Straining our eyes, we searched the horizon for some indicator of damage coming for us but the ocean seemed quite calm. 6:49 came and went and we began wondering if we could head back down. We could hear dogs howling from up on the hill and the cats were surely wondering why their dinner was almost two hours late.

"There may be after shocks that could be worse. You shouldn't leave yet."
We waited a while longer before giving our phone number to some people on the hill with the instruction to call us should any waves come along. We had hurried up the hill full of fear, but we trooped back down with gratitude, as well as a truck full of sick cats and a motley crew of dogs. Denver was fast asleep in my arms, poor dog. He really got unlucky and besides having a blood parasite, he now also has an infected bite wound and an abcess. It's hard being the runt of the pack.

Every volunteer pulled their weight getting the animals in their kennels and fed that evening. For an anti-climactic ending we couldn't have been more relieved. There hasn't been a tsunami warning here in years so it really took everyone by surprise. I've never been in a situation before where I had minutes to pack a bag with my most important belongings - everything else I was prepared to lose, really. I took my phone and charger, iPod, journals, camera, money, passport/important documents, and water. While it ended up not affecting us at all (except for a 10 centimeter wave that the island handled very well), in those moments we had no idea - that was what was hardest, we just had no clue what was going on when we left. People died last time; this island was wrecked last time. We got extremely lucky and I think we're all very grateful and so so happy that the animals are okay and only suffered a bit of hunger. The thought of leaving them behind, trapped, was what was hardest. Forget clothes, forget belongings, but for the lives of all those dogs we were prepared to return at the smallest indicator of danger to free them.

I wish I could say all's well that end's well, but after the tsunami warning was removed we had a dog brought to us that had been killed on the road, a dog we had adopted out from here. Immediately following was a cat hit by a motorbike that we had to put down. Today a dog was intentionally shot and died as our vet was trying to save it. I know we're seeing the worst of it here, but lately it just feels like we're losing more lives than we save. We had a batch of kittens dropped off yesterday as well that I've been told are very sick. I'm not even planning on looking at them because I know they're going to be put down. It's difficult here. You work hard, physically, and then you work even harder, emotionally. In the end you just have to train yourself to remain as unattached as possible. Of course when there are happy endings it's wonderful, and whenever one needs a reminder of why we put ourselves through this you need only enter one of the dog areas and be greeted by several wagging tails and happy faces.