Dog Trauma

I know I promised some stories about how I traumatized Pookah but I've been traumatized today.

Ok, I know I'm a bit crazy - everyone knows. It's just well, I think of the best side of everything before I make a determination that this person/thing is the spawn of all evil and needs to be put down... usually. Well, today is Monday and when I say I haven't had one of THOSE Mondays in a while, I mean it. I don't work. Why is Monday any different than Saturday? OH BUT IT WAS.

I'm taking care of my sister's dogs. All of my sister's dogs. Yon has three dachshunds that bark when startled, excited, scared and hungry. (Really, if 2 of them were allowed, they'd be like pigs that just eat and lay in the mud all day, they LOVE food. Like, I'd say they need to go to a over eater's anonymous meeting if they'd understand it enough not to eat the chairs.)So they are barky dogs named Boo, Bebe, and Bruiser. Bebe is the smallest vicious one, and the most barky. It's kinda scary considering her eyes are like the characters of Precious moments dolls... until she attacks you - you probably think she's the cutest thing ever. Truly, in a house, they do not bother me that much - and they usually stop barking and being food gluttons after I start screaming like a mad woman so it works out.

I also have my older sister, Yelly's, beagle Rodney. The sweetest dog... except when he smells shit and zero's in on the dead squirrel in the yard. Then he's a force. His whole body becomes a nose looking for coke. So yes, I've got two over eaters - a dog psychopath and an addict. Then there is mine, which previously stated, is traumatized. She is mine, so she listens to me most of the time and sticks close to me. I get her, probably because I did the traumatizing with the millions of plane rides, car rides, people, and the lone 4th of July firecracker fiasco. HEY, she's doing fine, really, nothing a little benadryl can't fix.

just kidding... I haven't doped her since her first plane ride.

Anyway, so the three little dogs and mine go in the backyard to get their business done. They rarely run away though if it rains I have to throw them back there. (Fun fact, Pookah, my dog, is the only dog that doesn't seem to mind the rain.) WELL, Rodney is a known runner. And not like a hey-i'm-gonna-go-down-the-block, no he's a escaped-from-a-mad-house runner. I know this. KNOW it. YET, I let him in the yard without a leash - swear he's been good the last two times.

Picture this: me with five dogs - I'm in sweat pants and a black shirt and flips- and they are in the backyard...

Me: C'mon little doggies, time to go inside. Rodney - inside.

*Rodney starts coming back

Random kids in another backyard: OMIGOD DOGGIES!!

Ok, now from like 2 kids there are like 10 kids. They are swarming with their grubby hands and screeching like banshees towards the dogs. ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE.

Pookah starts running towards Rodney - Rodney books it, knowing it will be his one and only escape from his terrible life of eating and sleeping. The two fatties are running back and forth from the porch to the end of the yard barking at the kids like the porch has some protective barrier that will prevent children (although both my sister pray this is true - it is not.) Then Bebe, queen of cuteness and viciousness, starts after the kids.

Now, I've gotta make a choice. Chase after a dog that I KNOW is stupid enough to go into traffic after smelling the best roadkill known to beagledom, OR save the children from the dog that I'm pretty sure can rip them to shreds with her cute but remarkably sharp baby teeth. Yes, I save the children. I scream to the dogs to get in the house. The fatties book it, they know hungry when they see it, and those children and eager for dachshund haunches. Pookah, is running around in a paranoid frenzy wondering where up is. And I'm chasing after the little one before children go yelling to their parents with one arm. I get the 4 in the house but last I saw Rodney he was running far away and to the left.

Crap.

So i'm like, ok, I watch crime movies - the first hour missing is the most important. No, it is NOT the same thing but I do think it has some relevance - those FBI guys know what they are talking about.

Anyway, I start a frantic search across the neighborhood wearing the hottest thing I own in 98 degree weather. I run FAST and like I was getting the last beer at a fraternity party, can't find him.

I start going through my options:
1. Call 911, yes, my first thought, thank you Kindergarten.
2. Check all yards.
3. Get in car check roads
4. Ask anyone you see if they've seen a dog.
5. Call Witness Protection because my sister is going to kill me.

Luckily #4 panned out. There was the neighbor with Rodney. Worst 20 minutes ever, maybe longer - I have no idea - my brain can't handle the concept of time.

I thank said neighbor, but now I'm emotionally drained. I'm starving, and useless while ALL the dogs are coming down from this adrenalin rush that I've completely missed out on. I try to get my day on a roll... nope. Roll is gone.

Yeah, so that evil comment I was talking about earlier. Oh no, I don't blame Rod - it's those DAMN kids with their hands of pain and panic....

Instead, I'm going to watch serial killer movies to make me feel better about my life.

Don't judge me.