A not so beautiful day in the neighborhood…

by Katie on February 1, 2010

Last Wednesday afternoon, Brandon was enjoying a quiet lunch at home, when we noticed both dogs going absolutely nuts outside. Like, Wilbur was twice as loud as when the garbage truck comes down the road. Which is loud, y’all. I’m pretty sure all our neighbors who pay for garbage service twice a week at 6:30am are going to cancel and start burning it.
Anyway, we look out the office window to see two dogs running full speed into our yard. One giant one (bigger than Wilbur), followed by a heeler. Dixie and Wilbur ran out to meet them and defend our property, while Brandon and I both bolted for the door.
Sure enough, we reached it just in time to see Dixie lose her ground to the big dog. Brandon successfully got the invader dogs out of our yard, but Dixie was left with a four-inch gash in her back leg, hide flapping in the wind.
Brandon ran to the safe, grabbed a shotgun, and took out after the dogs, namely, the dangerous one. He found the owner instead, and long story short, they agreed to keep the dog up, pay for Dixie’s damages, and informed him the deg was a pit bull-American bulldog mix. A lovely dog to be out roaming the neighborhood, right? Especially when the neighbors on both sides of us have toddlers playing in the yard.
Anyway, Dixie went in for her “surgery” Friday morning. Apparently, that’s what they call dog stitches these days — surgery. I collected a check from the dog owner, and picked her up that afternoon. Everyone was happy.
One of the receptionists went to the back to retrieve Dixie, and you could hear her in the lobby saying, “Whoa-oa. You sure don’t act like you just woke up from surgery.”
Yes, meet my dog. Some said she would be less hyper after the “puppy stage”. Nope. Some said after she was “fixed” she would calm down. Wrong again.
Others gave hope she would be better once she had a place to run around more during the day and not be so confined. Folks, we’ve got five acres, and after she’s made three loops around all five of them, she still acts like a pinball going nonstop in the machine.
So they brought Dixie out front, and she jumped up, and was going spastic on the end of the leash while a lady waiting with her miniature Australian Shepherd puppy shielded it in her lap and said, “No, you can’t play with that one,” …all while they’re explaining to me how important it is I keep her from running and jumping too much the rest of the day.
I refrained from laughing in their faces, but let it all out once I was safely inside my truck. I sent the following message to my immediate family and a couple friends: “So I was just instructed to not let Dixie run or jump too much today. Ha! Clearly, they have no idea what I’m dealing with.”
To which my mom responded: “I can only imagine. You will be busy.”
My sister: “Oh no! Have fun with that!”
But my dad takes the prize: “A mason in a dog suit” (Basically suggesting this would be as easy as confining my youngest brother in a straight jacket.)
And sure enough, she bolted out of the truck, around the yard, on top of the picnic table, and started jumping up on Wilbur, who was anxiously awaiting her. So I lured her into the pen (the only place I thought I might have a chance) with some elk scraps (from when we processed two elk in our kitchen last fall), where she ran in a circle and jumped up on each side.
Now I’m taking bets on how many days it will take for the stitches in her leg to bust.
And also? Trying to come up with worse ways to meet neighbors than insisting they pay $289 in veterinary services so you don’t get reported for animal negligence.
[Seriously. I took her in for an “estimate” — yeah, kind of like a car — on Thursday to make sure it was what the dog owner considered “reasonable” enough to pay. Before I left, they told me if I didn’t bring her back for the “surgery” they would have to report me.]

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