I was attacked!*

Well, I had quite the harrowing experience today. Or something that could have been harrowing, had it actually happened. So I guess it wasn’t really an “experience” in the traditional sense. Basically nothing happened today. But if you didn’t want to read about a non-event written in an overly dramatic fashion, then you came to the wrong place, my friend.

Okay, here’s what happened.

I was enjoying the beautiful morning on my front porch, because apparently I am eighty years old. I had a full cup of coffee in my hand and a nice fat book on my lap and was all set to enjoy both.

I looked across the cul-de-sac to see my cat Emo trotting at a brisk pace toward me. I greeted her cordially; pleased she took a break from her fight club or breakdancing competition or whatever she does when she’s out and about.

I'm guessing cat cosplay.
I’m guessing cat cosplay.

She came up on the front porch and that’s when I realized she was making weird meowy noises and her tail was all puffed out.

It was at this point that something made me look over and I froze. Standing in my driveway, appearing like some sort of mythical creature from hell, was a giant German Shepard. Well, probably a normal-sized German Shepard but I was extremely startled, so he may have appeared larger to me.

“Uh,” I said. “Whatcha doing there, buddy?” Possibly the stupidest thing I’ve ever said to a dog. The dog was not impressed, baring his teeth and growling.

Let me just pause here and emphasize that I love dogs, especially big dogs. I like a dog to have some girth, you know? However, as he continued to growl and show me his large white pointy teeth, I had a feeling that this dog and I would not be strolling through farmer’s markets anytime soon.

THIS COULD'VE BEEN US.
THIS COULD’VE BEEN US, DOG.

Luckily, he decided I wasn’t worth attacking and ran off. Or maybe disappeared in a puff of smoke, I didn’t really pay attention. I immediately called the dog warden since I didn’t want another unsuspecting porch-sitter to suffer the same fate. Because I am a good neighbor.

But as soon as I relaxed with Emo on my lap the Hound of Calico Court appeared again, moving a little too close for comfort. I stood up quickly and carried Emo in the house.

I want to pause here again to note that Emo is our outside cat and hasn’t been inside in a while. Sabian, her kitten, is now 2 years old and quite the little princess. I set Emo down and peered out the window to keep watch for the dog. Emo looked confused that she was inside but wandered down the hall, probably to see if we redecorated since she was there last.

"You somehow made this room MORE boring."
“Wow, guys, you somehow made this room MORE boring.”

I couldn’t see where the dog was, so I poked my head out the front door. His enormous head popped up and he started toward me, so I let out a very un-brave squeal and slammed the door shut. Looking out the window, I saw him poke his nose around where I had been sitting; my coffee, book and iPhone still outside, abandoned like the less-attractive extras in a disaster movie.

I then remembered in the midst of the chaos that Sabian hadn’t seen her mother in quite a while and was probably not going to be receptive to a pop-in. I walked in the kitchen just in time to witness Sabian giving Emo what I can only describe as an “Oh, I don’t THINK so” look. Here, this cat meme can show you what I mean:

God bless the Internet.
God bless the Internet.

Sabian hissed when she saw her mama, at which point Emo decided she’d rather deal with the Dog of Satan than her ungrateful daughter.

Thankfully,  whoever owned (served?) the demon dog came home and presumably put him back in the Lucifer Suite. Get it? They call it that because that’s where Lucifer stays when he’s in town for… the Hell Festival?

"Please stop."
“Please stop.”

Mind you, this all happened in the span of maybe five minutes, if that. My coffee was still hot when I sat back down. Luckily, Emo and I enjoyed the rest of our morning with no other mythical creatures appearing.

Except for our next-door neighbors, the Vampire Family. But that’s a story for another day.

NO, NOT THAT KIND OF VAMPIRE.
No. Not that kind of vampire.

*Almost

Thanksgiving Leftovers

This is an old blog post from fall of ’09. Leftovers from an old blog, if you will. See what I did there? Okay, fine—I’m in the middle of a turkey hangover and didn’t feel like writing a new blog post. Anyway, enjoy.

 This is a tale of the day I decided to take a walk and the disturbing events that transpired as a result. It was a beautiful late afternoon. I walked down down the main road, swinging my arms merrily, with no premonition of what horror would soon befall me. I was ready to turn left at the corner when a neighbor’s bulldog, which had been wandering aimlessly in the yard, saw me and started doing that growly barking thing that dogs do. Still staring at me, he then left the yard and trotted purposefully to where I had stopped short.

I sensed this wasn’t going to be a neighborly chat.  Maybe because his flat eyes had no expression and he was squinting at me like a mob character.

"You disappoint me, my friend."
“I’ll make ya an offer you can’t refuse.”

So I’m standing there, more irritated than afraid, even though at this point the dog is right in front of me and growling.  Every time I’ve been by this house there were always twenty people lounging on the front porch but of course that day there was no one.

I finally spotted movement in the garage and called out impatiently, “Uh, could you call off your dog?”

When I said that, the dog began inching closer to me.  (Still growling, by the way.  When you picture this scene, just picture the dog constantly growling.)

The guy heard me, but took his sweet time until I started getting seriously ticked off. What kind of person just lets their dog accost innocent exercisers?

The dog, probably sensing his owner wasn’t quite done scratching his head over this puzzling conundrum, chose that moment to lunge at my leg.  Luckily, I have long legs and the reflexes of a ninja.  Or maybe I just have long legs and it had the stumpy legs of a bulldog.  Whatever. Luckily, I was able to dance away before any damage was done.  Although it did leave doggy saliva on my cute workout pants.

Unforgivable. Now I’m really steamed. “It just tried to bite me!”

Finally, finally, the owner lopes over and ineffectually makes a grab for the dog.  Oh, and by the way? IT’S NOT EVEN WEARING A COLLAR. Do you know how hard it is to grab a dog that’s not wearing a collar? You could almost see it sneering as it easily backed away out of the owner’s reach.  All it needed was a wife-beater and a cigarette dangling from its jowls.

"Maybe you didn't hear me the first time. I ain't goin' nowheres."
“Maybe you didn’t hear me the first time. I ain’t goin’ nowheres.”

And what do I get from the esteemed owner by way of an apology? This:

DOG OWNER: Huh huh huh. [long pause] Sorry.

Um. What? Your freaking dog just tried to maul me and that’s all I get? Although I think it was really more of an angry hump attempt rather than an attack but still. My leg almost got raped by your dog, pal. And that is NOTHING TO LAUGH ABOUT.

But this was not over, my friend. Not by a long shot.

The next morning I called the county dog warden where I reached an improbably cheerful woman and told her that a neighbor’s uncollared, unleashed dog tried to bite me. (I figured an attempted angry hump wouldn’t impress her so I left that part out.) She said they’d send someone to the house.

I pictured some 7 foot, 300 pound guy coming to the owner’s door and  removing the dog from the house in disgrace. Maybe in handcuffs, with all the other dogs in the neighborhood pointing and laughing. The idea gave me great pleasure.

So after work Eric informs me that the dog warden left a note on our door. What? Did they mix up the address or something? He then says in horror, “You didn’t give them our address, did you?” Like the dude would go up to the owner’s house, point and say, “Hey, the lady who lives in that house said your dog tried to molest her so he must be destroyed. Preferably in front of your children. And I heard her husband say you walk like a woman.” Because dog wardens are troublemaking pot-stirrers, I guess.

How my husband pictured the dog warden. In Eric's defense, this guy is clearly up to no good.
How my husband pictured the dog warden. In Eric’s defense, this guy is clearly up to no good.

Even though I was sure he was just being a paranoid, I called  the dog warden again and was informed they check on both the complainer and the complainee. Okay, whatever. So what happened to the dog? I ask. Waterboarding? A non-stop marathon of The AristicatsWhat?

"NOOOOOOO! I'll be a good dog, I swear!"
“NOOOOOOO! I’ll be a good dog, I swear!”

Do you want to know what happened? The dog warden went by a couple times when no one was home, then when he showed up again a kid answered the door. A kid who claimed he didn’t “know anything about a dog.”

"What dog? I don't know nuthin' about no dog."
“What dog? I don’t know nuthin’ about no dog.”

What kind of kid denies the existence of his own dog?! Let me get a hold of that kid—then we’ll see if his memory improves.  (cracks knuckles) But apparently there’s some law against that or something. Stupid hippies are ruining this country.

Anyway, they can’t give a citation to a minor so that’s it. A crazed dog tries to molest me and gets away with it. This is the direction America is going, people.

However, the kid must have said something to his parents, because while looking out the window one day (not spying on the neighbors), I noticed the Bulldog from Hell on a leash as a woman followed behind picking up doggie poo.  Although I think she should make the dog pick up his own poop as punishment. But one step at a time, my friends. For now, I guess that’s good enough.