Blog RSS FeedMy husband the hero
Last night around 11 pm, I went into the bathroom to get ready for bed. There’s no ventilation to speak of in that room, so we always leave the window open in the summer. I’d gotten both contacts out when something caught my attention — the sound of dogs barking.
The husb and Winston were already in bed, but, being the busybody I am, I rushed out of the house with a flashlight.
The barking came from across the street and a few houses down. The interior lights were all off. The backyard was lit up. I climbed up through another absent neighbor’s labyrinthine steps — we live on a hill, so you can’t just look into the yard.
So what do I find back there? Two Yorkies, barking their heads off.
Now, these are rumored to be the meanest dogs in tarnation. Just the sight of Winston through their car window sends them into a raging tantrum. But immediately I knew that something had to be done — our hills are well-stocked with coyotes, predatory birds, even bobcats. (And not just the odd coyote here and there — they run in packs.)
People don’t simply leave little dogs outside at night. For instance, if I were out and about and received a psychic premonition that Winston were somehow traipsing around the backyard at night, I would first have a heart attack and then call every single person I know and beg them to go collect him. We’ve known people who had cute little dogs who lost them to coyotes — and fierce yapping, even being the meanest six-pound dogs in tarnation, will not help.
I came home and called every neighbor whose number I could find, waking them all up. Everyone understood — no one expressed even the remotest annoyance that I’d called. But no one had a phone number for the missing pet owners.
Finally I heard a “shhhhhh” from the house on the other side of the dark house. I called up to the neighbor, who said they didn’t have the necessary cell phone number. The wife came down and told us that there was a dogsitter watching the house and dogs (ha!), and that he usually came around 5 am. I was ready — though not thrilled by the prospect — to stay up all night, sitting by the gate, sending the dogs into spinning hissyfits, and somehow trying to defend them from coyotes.
I mean, come on. It’s somebody’s dogs.
Dogs are important.
So the husb got dressed and came outside lugging one of Winston’s crates and a leash. There were rough wooden steps leading up to a gate on the side of the house, but you first had to climb up a ladder to get to the landing at the bottom of the steps. Our plan, should the gate open, was roughly to catch the dogs and keep them in a crate until someone came home. I ran home to get my contacts back in (nothing messes with depth perception like glasses) and to change out of my pajamas into something that would hopefully resist Yorkie teeth. (Oh, and to procure a pack of turkey dogs for bait.)
By the time I got back, the husb had climbed over the fence and taken stock. There was a doggie door that was propped open, and one of the dogs went right in. They did not, because he was not walking a Cavalier with a melting expression and an addiction to bellyrubs, attack him.
He spent another ten minutes trying to get the other dog inside, finally did, and then shut the doggie door.
The nice neighbor who had been outside with us offered to write a note to the dog walker.
That’s probably good, because any note I would come up with would probably include a lot of four-letter words — and I don’t mean W-A-L-K, either.
The whole thing took about an hour. The husb had to be on set super-early this morning, so it was extra heroic of him to give up sleepytime (not to mention risking life and limb by scaling a six-foot chain link fence at the very crest of a steep hill).
It makes me realize — if you’re going out of town, blanket the neighborhood — the people you trust — with your phone numbers and contact info.
And it makes me realize that Winston will never, ever stay home with a dogsitter.
Related posts:August 1st, 2007 Katie Alender
Tarnation? You from ’round these parts?
I hope those owners realize what good neighbors they have and send you a muffin basket or something. At least a month’s supply of hotdogs. That so-called dog sitter ought to be tarred and feathered.
You guys rock.
My mother and I are both professional pet sitters and we consider it our job to be at the house all day and all night with the animals we’re booked to care for (we’re often on separate jobs).
The most we’re ever away is 2 hours in the middle of the day to do things like get food into the house.
I also insist on having the phone numbers of at least three friends/neighbors in case of an amergency — IE, when my mom had her arm pulled out of its socket by an overized dog she was walking who wasn’t even supposed to be there.
If you don’t want to leave a note filled with four letters — I’ll do it.
It’s inexcusable, and boy, are they lucky to have you.
Hopefully if they send you hotdogs (as Christy said), they send you Fenway Franks or Portillos from Chicago. Something decent anyways. There’s on coyote on the loose around my town. Last week a woman and her golden retriever were attacked – and the golden fought off the coyote. I’m pretty sure the other coyotes have shunned him now (all the coyotes here are Menonites).
Wow, Katie — good for you, and good for your husband! I used to know people in the Los Angeles hills who lost dogs and cats to coyotes. I feel a little sad for the coyotes (I think they are smart, interesting creatures, too, and they’ve got to live), but I’d hate losing a pet to them — or to anything, really. A lot of people might have been tempted to say ‘Well, those aren’t my dogs, and after all, they’re obnoxious,’ but you and your husband put yourselves out for them, and yes, the owners ought to realize what good neighbors you are. But I’ll bet even if you knew they might not appreciate it, you’d have helped those dogs.
Christy, you made me start thinking about the word “tarnation”. Was it “entire nation” and someone just shortened it? Hmm. And yes, I am rounding up a posse to keep an eye on that no-good cattle rustler. Okay, so I don’t have proof he rustled cattle.
Devon, see, that would be different. I guess this guy is more of a dog walker than a dog sitter. I just can’t believe he treated someone else’s beloved pets with such carelessness. One thing’s for sure — those people will probably never use him again. I hope they don’t, because I have to go check on the dogs every night until next Tuesday, ugh.
Alex, wow, for a coyote to attack a person is pretty unusual. Mennonite coyotes sure are tough.
Thanks, Mary. I feel bad for them, too — just in the past year, the three lots on our street that were coyote-friendly have been developed. I don’t mind them in general — it just means we’re super careful with Winston. I’m more than happy to let them eat all the rats they can handle!
Katie, you’ve got a good man there. But you’re also a good woman for going to all that trouble. Those dogs are mighty lucky to have a dog-lover like you on the case.
Nosy neighbors are good. Mrs. Kravitz would be proud.