After a week and a half hiatus from ye olde blog (got married, NBD), I am feeling well-rested and a bit less motivated. In the wedding chaos, I lost some momentum, but am hoping to gain it back with all the free time I’m finding sans wedding planning. I thought there was no better way to get at it than to write about one of the scariest things I’ve done so far.
Most of the scary things I do are premeditated. However, because I am a human being, I am occasionally faced with a less-than-awesome, terrifying situation that I simply cannot avoid. Case in point: getting caught in the middle of a dog fight between the neighbors’ two pit bulls and my own dog.
This is not an ANTI-pit bull post!
I’m a dog lover and completely understand that pitties have sadly gained a bad reputation. It’s unfair in many cases, but that doesn’t mean they don’t freak me out a little. I’ve met the neighbors’ pit bulls. They are super nice and belong to genuinely great people who take good care of them. However, the dogs are 65-pounds of pure muscle and can get a little rowdy. They completely feed off each other’s energy, as many siblings do.
Anyhow, I was recently picking up dog crap in our fenced in backyard when I heard the pitties begin shoutin’ at me and my 35-pound Mexican street pup, Patsy. I’m [probably unhealthily] attached to my dog (you can read about that here). She’s my bestie. The two of us were hanging in the yard when all of a sudden, one of the neighbor dogs jumped their five foot fence (!), ran through my next door neighbor’s yard and then jumped our fence. Within 30 seconds, the second pittie followed suit.
It was me, Patsy and two muscular dogs I don’t know that well. I immediately broke into my high pitched “hiiiiiieeeeeeeeeah! Howwweeee arrreeeee youaaaah, goooooodah girlsah!” You know, to keep the energy light! Pretty soon, Patsy and the two pups were frolicking around with glee.
Yay! Fun times!
Then things changed. Bared teeth, snarls and growls from all parties… except me, who was paralyzed with fear. I tried to de-escalate the fight, keeping the energy light while wrestling Patsy away from the other two. I used my best fairy princess voice (a tone I can’t stand!) to calm things down.
That didn’t work.
Next, I attempted to pull Patsy out of the rumble and isolate her on the deck. Meanwhile, I am still trying to fairy princess talk to these hounds. No dice. And then, I had my A-HA! moment.
Within moments, the beyonce (who’s now my husband! What do I call him?) rushed from our upstairs apartment in his socks and pulled Patsy out by the scruff of her neck. He threw her in the house, then I quickly followed, slamming the door behind me and leaving the love of my life in the yard with two angry pit bulls.
Patsy cowered in the corner, licking a bleeding puncture wound on her hind quarter. I brought her upstairs and cleaned her up, fighting back my own tears. Josh managed to get both dogs under control (of course as soon as Patsy was gone, they began playing nicely again), and walked them back to the neighbors. Apparently, Patsy bit off a chunk of one of the other dog’s ears, so there were damages all around.
I felt awful about everything.
Awful about not being able to stop the fight myself. Awful about the bite on my dog’s butt. Even worse, the wound in my neighbors’ dog’s ear (which wouldn’t stop bleeding). Seeing my own doggie completely freaked out (her against two 65-pound pit bulls? Not fair, even if she was actively participating!) And the fact that my man rescued me and Patsy and then we left him in the backyard (!)… well, it sure didn’t make me feel good.
I was also scared that there would be some sort of rift between us and the neighbors, whom we really like. Luckily, they were really cool about it and even said that one of their dogs very sweet with people, but does have a bit of a crazy streak (like the time she ate a whole lasagne… and half of the pan). They made their fence a foot taller. Though the dogs have gotten into a yard since, we’re all a lot more aware of the situation. Even Patsy is being more mindful. She looks out the window every time we go to the backyard to see if she needs to be on alert. It’s both cute and heartbreaking.
In this instance, you break up a dog fight by screaming bloody murder. However, that’s probably not a “best practice.” I may find myself in this situation again– whether at my house or the dog park. It’s the nature of being a dog person. Any advice on how to better handle this next time?
And what in the heck should I be calling the beyonce now that we’re married?!