Yo. Have I got a story for you!
Me and the fam, we moved into a really nice brush pile not too far from the kits’ school. My little surfeit was all excited for their own rooms in the brush, and the wife (Mabel) really liked this area.
So about two weeks in, the kits have started school and Mabel’s made friends in the stump nearby and it’s all going swimmingly. Then I go out exploring.
This great brute of a thing, this dog that must have been fifty times my body size, he comes from nowhere, and he rolls me over with his paw, and I’m not a naturally violent guy, but I’ve got no choice.
I give him a full blast in the face.
The best defense is a good offense, I teach the kits. Poor little orphan surfeit – at this point I thought I’d never see them or Mabel again. But this dog, all of a sudden, he wants to play! I’m trying to stand up, but my leg hurts, and the beast is just circling me, barking and jumping like a puppy. Like he thinks I’m a cat or something and wants to be friends.
A human lady comes out of the house, throws her hands up, and goes back inside. I’m lying there sprawled in the yard, and I figure the dog’s not gonna hurt me at this point, and the lady’s gonna get a photo, so just wait. If she puts the photo on Facebook I can use it later in the insurance settlement. I’m suing the ears off this doggo, believe you me. “Unprovoked” comes to mind. There are fair warning laws between species, y’know?
But the lady comes back with a guy and they drag the dog to their porch. So I waddle home. I can walk on that leg, but think to to limp a little, just in case they can see me. From the porch I can hear the lady all annoyed-like saying “baking soda” and “Monday morning.”
Yeah, whatever, lady. I’ll see you my wafting scent and raise you one heart attack.
Mabel’s still there when I get home; the kits haven’t left for school, so they all cluster ’round while she gets the lineament. They want to hear the whole story, but their little eyes get so big when I talk about the teeth and jaws closing around me (hey, why not) Mabel interrupts.
“Daddy’s fine, surfeit. Off you go now; you’ll be late for school.” And despite the chorus of “Aw Ma”s and such, they grab their lunches and go grumbling out the door. She Who Must Be Obeyed has spoken.
Mabel brings me a drink. (Don’t judge. It was for my nerves.) And I tell her the whole story–the sudden rush, the rollover, the dog turning friendly a little late in the encounter for my tastes–while she checks my leg.
“Not broke, just sprained. Stay off it today and tomorrow you’ll be right as rain” is her pronouncement. “Did we make a mistake moving here? Can the kits play in the yard?”
I mean, we just got here, and we might have to move ’cause of that beast? Now I’m not gonna suggest to their mother that we take any chances with our little surfeit, no way nohow. All the same, that dog wasn’t out for blood. He kinda wanted to play. And I did teach him not to mess with skunks. Direct hit between the eyes. He’s gonna reek for days. Ain’t enough Dawn liquid soap in the world to make him forget this little lesson.
So maybe we can wait it out. Gonna restrict the kits to playing on the South side of the brush pile for a few days, and I’ll forage in another area. The people in the house won’t be interested in a repeat performance either, so they’ll be turning the outside lights on before the dog appears, I feel sure. That’s all we ask, fair warning.
And maybe, just maybe, we can all get along? Time will tell. Meanwhile, I’m gonna enjoy my day off. Mabel just brought me some eggs and bacon – and another drink.