I have been known to tell a story or two. Possibly throwing in some 'embellishments' every now and then but what good is a story without some pizazz, right? Before my life was forever immortalized through the almighty blogosphere [sounds pretty hard core, right?] I did, in fact, have interesting occurrences to report. Ah, if only I'd had a blog back in college---now THEN I'd have some killer stories to share. High school, not so much---it would've been pretty lame and full of sports and stupid drama---but college tales would have made you laugh out loud.
Then I had a light bulb moment [it's scary when that happens to me]: who says I can't blog about the past funnies in my life right this instant? Would the blogging gods strike me down or would my readers protest some good old fashioned entertainment? I think not. I think I'm going to bring it. If these turn out to be one of those you-had-to-be-there types of things, please put me out of my misery early on, mmmkay?
Today's story is not from college. I'm still trying to narrow down the blog-worthy tales there. Please enjoy, thanks:
The Day My Life Flashed Before My Eyes [otherwise known as When Dogs Attack]
The location? St. Louis, MO. The suburbs. In a 'melting pot neighborhood' of sorts, full of interesting combinations of citizens.
The time? One week before my wedding. Late spring. A time when some brides *might* lose their minds even without extra drama. Especially us psycho brides:)
It was a nice evening and I felt like going for a jog with my designer doggy. In hindsight suppose we both looked like easy targets: me with my blaring headphones, Henry with his white fluffiness. Not exactly what I'd call "Tough" but whatever. A bride needs to jog away her worries, so sue me.
We completed our 3 mile run and started walking up our driveway, fully content with life in general. Out of nowhere I see a flash of brown enter my peripheral vision...a flash that came complete with ivory fangs and four legs. This sketchy lab mix of a dog lunged right for my baby, right for little Henry, before I could utter a cuss word. Henry was still on his leash and my initial reaction was to yank the leash up so hard that his little body left the ground in short intervals, like a doggy yo-yo gone wrong. He was holding his own but the idiot lab was big, as in about 80 pounds big, an my little 25 pound canine didn't stand a chance. Lots of growling, yelping, and then my cussing intertwined with my overwhelming sense of anxiety. And that's when I started throwing punches into the ribs of this monster. We were not going down without a fight. Didn't this dog know I was preparing for the biggest day of my life in a matter of hours?! The nerve!
"Whose BLEEPING dog is this? Get him the BLEEP away! Help! Stop you BLEEPING bastard!"
Then the heavens parted and the angels started to sing. My neighbor, who we lovingly referred to as Shower Cap Man, lugged his bag of bones across the street. This is the same honorable gentleman who would bar-b-que in the dead of winter, wearing nothing but a shower cap and a Hefner robe. He is also the one who drives a certified 'child molester van' which boasts a duct taped boombox to the drivers seat. No joke, I couldn't make this up.
As SCM sprinted over to our rescue he said, "Git. Git outta here, you." And just like that devil dog sprinted away. At this point I was near tears, Henry was panting but seemed okay, and I gazed down to find my battle wounds: red scratches on my arms, probably full of rabies and bacteria and every disease known to mankind. SCM kindly stated, "Man, that ain't the first time I seen dat dog do dat. He attacked another one a while back and he almost didn't make it." OH HOW AWESOME. Thank you for that piece of information. I couldn't even speak I was shaking so hard, and I ran inside to inspect my pup.
Henry was okay, just a little freaked out, but okay. I on the other hand, was not okay. I was furious as I called Nate and informed him that we nearly died, in between sobs of course. He immediately said, "Call the cops right now. I'll be there soon." I really love him sometimes:)
So I called the cops while noticing that one of my other neighbors, the one we called White Trash Lady, stepped outside looking for her 5 year old son and her dog. Yes, that is her dog---it's all coming back to me now. The boy came back with the runaway monster and his mother screamed at him, "What did you do? Did Kujo just attack that lady? Why weren't you watching him?" [oh, and his name wasn't really Kujo but you know I love my embellies].
So WTL was verbally abusing her son because he didn't 'watch' the dog? Come on, lady, take some responsibility. And with that I was running out the front door.
Me: "Is that your dog?"
WTL: "Um, yeah."
Me: "He just attacked me and my dog and I called the cops. If I have rabies I'm SO going to sue you." [again, I didn't really say that last line but I wish I would have]
WTL: "Well, my son was supposed to be watching him. " pause.....wait for the apology.....nope, nothing.
Me: "You mean your son who is about five years old? Yeah, that makes a ton of sense. He's totally to blame, you idiot." And I stormed back into the house to wait for the cops with steam pouring out of my ears.
Turns out that the cops were very sympathetic, probably because they could smell the crazy on me. Or maybe it was because my eyes were bulging out of my skull when I told my story, but regardless.....they were nice. They told me to call with anymore problems and then scolded WTL, while her poor son sobbed in the front yard. You and me both, kid. Wanna split a beer?
And so, my doves, the lesson is this: always be on guard when entering public spaces. Or at least carry a baseball bat 'just in case.' And continue to feel disdain for irresponsible pet owners/mothers---it isn't the dog/kid's fault. It's the idiotic WTLs of the world.
Anyone else live to tell the tale of a dog attack?
And sorry this wasn't the aforementioned 'funny story' of the past. I'll make it funnier next time:)