A Dog Tale

I have to tell you what happened the other night over here but I’ll set up the scene for you first. I just hope I can describe it well enough for you to picture it correctly. The house here has a decent sized back yard that runs the entire width of the house and up each side with stockade fencing surrounding it. On one side the fence butts up against the side of the house and on the other side, the side where the driveway is, there is an opening in the fence where a gate used to be at the butt end of the driveway. All the residents enter and exit the house via the back door and we walk around to the front and down the driveway.

In the back yard, running in line with the driveway, we have a picnic table that sits under a small tree. Lisa, a friend here, and I sit there when we go out to have a smoke. We’re not allowed to smoke in the house. Anyway, we sit on the ends of the benches and face out into the yard, she on one bench, I on the other, and we just chat across the table. The only view we have of the street is whatever we can see through the small gate opening, and what isn’t obscured by the car of whatever staff member is here at the time.

One night Lisa and I were sitting out there relaxing. The back porch light was on, but the back flood light had gone off as per its timer so it was relatively dark back there. The flood on the side of the house goes on and off with regularity but doesn’t stay on for more than ten seconds or so. Before I continue I feel the need to tell you that I am not afraid of dogs. Just remember that when you read the story. I am not afraid of dogs, never have been. And as you read don’t think “Cujo” think Lucy and Ethel from “I Love Lucy.” Ready? Ready.

So, it was night, before 9:00 because all the kids were still in the lower common room watching TV and Miss Staff was in the office, which is just off the LCR. Lisa and I were sitting in our usual spots at the picnic table. I was leaning forward, elbows on knees, just thinking about stuff and Lisa was texting a friend. Very casually she looked up and asked, “Is that a cat?” Then she went back to her phone. I slowly looked up and, at first, didn’t see anything. Then the side flood light came on and I saw a dog. A big dog. A big brown dog. A big brown dog with a red collar. And the dog was walking very slowly right toward us. Flood light out.

Again, I am not afraid of dogs – until I saw that one. I saw that dog and was suddenly terrified, don’t ask me why. I very slowly started raising myself off the bench, backing up with my right foot on the bench and my left foot on the ground of the outer side of the bench. I was actually trying to raise myself onto the table. At the exact same time I was moving I responded to Lisa’s question with, “No, that’s a dog.” As I continued to move so slowly that I don’t think anyone watching would have actually seen me move, a thought popped into my head – “This isn’t going to work. If that dog runs at you he can jump, so being on the table isn’t going to save your sorry ass, doofus!” Mind you, from the time I saw the dog, moved to get on the table, responded to Lisa, and had the DUH thought only about three seconds had passed. I kid you not.

Suddenly Lisa finished with her text, I guess realizing what I’d said, and looked up. When she saw the dog she screamed, loudly but rather pathetically. I don’t think I’ve heard a scream that bad in any B Horror flick. She screamed, then started laughing, but didn’t move a muscle. Meanwhile I sat perched, like an idiot, half on the table, and half on the bench, my right arm balancing me. I stared at the dog; I don’t even think I blinked, and I was trying to think of what to do. “If I run for the door that fucker will make it there before me, he’s got four legs, I’ve only got two. I’d be trapped and he’d laugh at me.” “I could call Miss Staff on my cell but if I make any sudden movements the dog might charge.” “What do I do? Can’t run past him, so I’ll just sit here like an idiot.”

The dog was still walking slowly toward us but when Lisa screamed it actually paused and appeared to start to turn around but then turned to look back at us as if to say, “What’s over there by you? Is it something scary? Why’d you scream? Should I be afraid?” Then it just stopped. I think Lisa said something like, “Shoo! Go away!” I don’t think I said anything. Two grown women, one sitting, one perching, looking ridiculous as we waited for the dog to go away. I still had no idea what I’d do if he began running toward us. In another few seconds the dog turned around and walked back out the gate, toward the left. Picture this sight now: both Lisa and I, from our same positions, leaned to the right as far as we could and trying to peek around the gate to make sure the dog was gone. The bad part is that we both knew damn well that we couldn’t see beyond the end of the fence from where we sat but we leaned anyway. Then I slowly returned to my sitting position, both of us asking the other, “Is it gone?”

Now, that entire incident happened within a span of about 90 seconds or so. We sat there for maybe another 15 seconds before we burst out laughing so hard we had tears rolling and we couldn’t breathe. We could only imagine what we had looked like sitting there, wide-eyed, terrified, and clueless. DUH!! We couldn’t believe that the dog actually came walking into the back yard, nor could we believe that after Lisa screamed, not one person from the house, residents or staff, came to the door to see what was going on in the yard. It was interesting to think that we could’ve been mauled by this dog and nobody would have known about it until we didn’t come inside to put our kids to bed. Go figure.

So we sat there laughing, and talking about the dog and what it thought of us in our petrified states as he stared at us and us at him. He probably wasn’t even dangerous but because it was dark and we only had that quick glimpse of him we’d automatically decided he wasn’t there for a social visit, he was there to hurt one or both of us. Since we weren’t sure whether or not he’d return we made an escape plan in case he returns.

Since Lisa and I both agree that we can’t outrun the dog to the back door, we’ve decided that, when he does return, I’ll jump up the stockade fence and onto the roof of the neighbor’s shed, which butts up against the opposite side of the fence. Once I’m up there I’ll help her get up there. Mr. Dog won’t be able to get us and we can call Miss Staff in the shelter and have her call 911 to get the fire department to get us off the roof since we’re both afraid of heights. Even if we weren’t afraid of heights we don’t want to get down on the neighbor’s side of the fence because we’ve seen a huge raccoon over there. At least we think it was a raccoon. It was either that or a really small-but-fat dog with extremely short legs. And who wants to be around dogs in the dark in this neighborhood? Certainly not us. We’ll pass, thank you.

Until next time…peace to all.