Sunday, November 19, 2006

The not so jolly Gentle Giant

Well, I will say, after this entry, I don't think I'm going to blog about squirrels. Don't quote me on that, though, cause nothing is permanent at our house. Except laundry. And dirty dishes. And cleaning the bathroom. Ok, so you get my drift.

The other night, just after I had blogged about the squirrels, we had a trauma here. Jill let our dog, a sweet almost nine year old German Shepherd mix, out to do his business. My MIL calls him the gentle giant, and he's a big baby. Well, my big ole baby dog shot out the door like his butt was on fire, and went tearing down the driveway. Jill thought someone was out front with a strange dog, so she ran after him. (You have to see our yard to understand why we can't fence the whole thing in.)

When Jill arrived in the front, my sweet Timmy dawg had a squirrel in his clutches. A big, fat, screaming for his very life, squirrel. DD (the vegetarian, remember) starting screaming at the dog, almost as loudly as the squirrel himself was yelling, whilst the dog is going nuts. Dog finally turns tail into the backyard, squirrel in mouth, with dd chasing after him. She finally got him to drop it, and drug the dog into the house, screaming the whole way.

She tore into the living room where I was, pleading that I need to take the squirrel to the vet. Now remember, I am a triage nurse. I talk to people all night, and have gotten a fair share of calls about interactions with wildlife that did not go well. NO WAY I'm gonna touch that squirrel and get bitten, or scratched, or whatever. So of course, then I was the bad guy, because I wasn't helping out the hysterical dd. "Are you just gonna let it die," shouts the dd, with the most enraged look I've seen out of her in a while. And she's 15, so I have seen rage in her eye. ::sigh:: Yep, the dog eats the squirrel, and MOM is the bad guy. That's my life.

So she starts yelling about how the hubby is gonna go out and pop it on the head with a hammer to finish it off, and how we need to take it to the vet. Hubby is running around, looking through the toolbox under the bed (MY toolbox, mind you. The one he said I never needed, cause why would a woman need a toolbox. Well, it wasn't exactly there so I could clobber a squirrel, I'll tell you that.) Whilst Jill is screaming and hubby is rifling the toolbox, Thomas was standing there, laughing like a hyena about how our sweet dog nailed the squirrel.

And into the midst of all of this wanders the totally clueless Seth saying "I thought we were going out to eat." Yes, he is blonde.

And there I sat on the couch, mouth hanging open, wondering why in the world anyone would call our house anything but Utter Chaos.

Five minutes later, hubby found the hammer, and went outside, only to find that the squirrel had already gone on to its eternal reward. Half an hour later we were sitting in Damon's ordering dinner. With appetizer AND dessert. ::sigh::

And the dog still wonders what in the world all the hubbub was about.

So, the answer to "why did the squirrel cross the road," the answer: to get away from the dude with the hammer.

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