Before I begin, I’d like to take a moment to remember what this day means. I was too young to participate in what was going on and certainly too young to understand. But later as an adult I came to understand.
Today we celebrate the birthday of Martin Luther King. He was a man of great conviction and strength. A man of faith who delivered hope. He inspired a nation and because of his words and deeds we are a better people.
We all have those days in which nothing seems to go right. That’s a given. Mine seem to be constant, however. There is always something a bit off kilter. Some monkey wrench that gets thrown at me and keeps me off balance. It’s gotten to the point that each morning before I get out of bed, I think about all the possible scenarios. I never just throw the covers back anymore and set my feet to the floor. No, I’ve learned not to do that.
A couple of weeks ago I threw back the covers and the beagle went flying through the air. Sorry, didn’t know he was there or I was that strong. Guess it was because he was at the foot of the bed and nice and relaxed. And if that wasn’t enough, the next morning I put my feet on the floor to step on a chewed up rawhide. OUCH!
On Saturday, we had a flood in the laundry room. One day last week I had a flat tire. And in prepping for our winter storm I had an experience in the grocery store that I’ll never forget—blogged about it here if you would like to see how all that went—http://fourstrongwomen.blogspot.com/2011/01/last-loaf-of-bread.html
Yesterday was no different for me. Something always sets my nerves a-jangling. I was sitting at my comp working on an edit for a friend. I was really into it, too. The door to the living room was closed and I was in the back end of the house in my little office alcove minding my own business.
At first the noise started kind of low and far away, but then it grew in intensity and all of a sudden I heard kids screaming. Oh Hell! Screaming kids is NEVER a good thing. So I went into Mama Mode. You know what I mean. Whatever made your kid scream needs to get running and get running quick because it is about to be faced with THE BEAR. THE LION. THE BEAST FROM THE BOWELS OF HELL.
Anything that makes your kid scream is in deep do-do for sure.
With no weapon handy, I go into the thick of things bare-fisted. Yeah, had those clubs of mine ready for action—and still wearing my nightie. Not sure I’d even combed my hair. But it didn’t matter how ugly I looked at the time, I wanted to look ugly so whatever/whoever was making my kids scream would scream and run. Right? Right.
Yep, wasn’t like I could stop by the bathroom and run a brush through my hair or apply lipstick for sure.
I shoved that living room door open and good lord almighty. In the middle of my beautiful living room, on my shiny hardwood floor—not the family room where these THINGS should be—but in my LIVING ROOM—the two abandoned dogs were going at it like—well, like rabid dogs!
I know you’re thinking “abandoned? They’re in your house, Tess. How can they be abandoned?” It’s like this. I had two dogs. Both mutts. Both perfectly well-behaved, loving, sweet, adorable mutts. And then I had one teenager bring home another mutt and begged to keep it. I said no no no no no. But her father said okay. So we got that mutt which is a mixture of Pit Bull and Rottweiler. Then two months later, the second teenager—and not my boy—no, that child is sane—but the other girl decided she should have her very own dog too. These girls are eighteen and nineteen and should be well past the I-need-a-puppy stage. And I said NO to both. But their father said YES. Asshole.
The second dog was a beagle. And that beagle is mean, bossy, uppity, and just plain pisses me off. Cute, trust me it’s cute, and I have always had a fondness for beagles. My sweet little beagle Sammie was hit by a car three years ago and I still miss that dog. But this dog is nothing like Sammie. This dog thinks it is ten feet tall and bullet proof. And it starts fights. Barks at everything that moves and jumps everything, too, including tht Pit Bull/Rottweiller mix. And every time it does jump on that dog, it bleeds. You’d think it would learn.
So why have they been abandoned? Because my girls are legally of age. That’s why. Both of them practically live with boyfriends now and just stop in at my house for a meal and money. So they are never here to feed, water, let the dogs in and out, bathe them or just plain deal with them in general. AND they don’t buy dog food or treat their wounds either.
Okay, I walked into the living room, fists in the air, see this mess and out of the corner of my eye see my brother running with a big pot from the kitchen area. SPLASHHHHHHHH!!!!!!
OHHHHH EMMMMMM GEEEEEEE. Water floods my beautiful gleaming hardwood floor and my gorgeous plum-colored floral oriental area rug and those two dogs.
And it wasn’t enough. Here came POT NO. 2. Yes, middle girl just happened to be home. SPLASHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
My bare feet are covered in water and a string of expletives about five miles long came out of my mouth and with the strength of a sonic boom. I was no longer in Mama Mode. I was in EAT-THE-FAMILY MODE.
Of all the stupid... OMG OMG. I wanted to kill. And then? The two dogs started up again. I saw both my brother and the girl running back to the kitchen for more water. STUPID!!!! I know I know. Throw cold water on them. I don’t care. This is my living room.
So I took my foot and kicked them. Kicked them hard and several times. Yep, my bare foot. One went flying one way and the other the other way. I grabbed the beagle by her collar and put her in the hall and closed the door.
My brother said, “They could have chewed your foot off.”
I said, “Don’t care. It’s better than having a freaking $500 rug ruined.”
He said, “Seriously.”
I gave him one of those shut-the hell-up looks and said, “Clean this mess up.”
He said, “ME?”
And then he got another look.
I walked into the hall, shutting the door behind me, and didn’t see the beagle anywhere. I checked every room. And what did I find? Said beagle was in the center of my bed—bleeding onto my big pink comforter. YEAH! It had bite marks—small, nothing serious—on it’s upper chest area and one on its leg. No huge amount of blood but it was my freaking comforter!
I whipped out my cell phone and called its MAMA. Gave her hell and gave her five minutes to get her butt home. She got there, took care of the dog and went to Pet Smart for ANOTHER bottle of doggie antiseptic. I guess she was upset because she ended up having a conversation with the doggie dude there who recommended some calming pills for the dogs. So the dogs are now medicated. Yep, they are now nice and sleepy all the time. Yayyyyyy
And as of this morning, they both have appointments for a little “snip snip” too. Balls awaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.
So, does anyone want to know why I can’t write. Why I can’t get anything done?
On another note--a more pleasant one, I hope. Natalie Dae http://nataliedae.blogspot.com, Regina Carlysle http://reginacarlysle.com, and MOI, are starting a newsletter group. Once a month--around the first--we'll be delivering the news about our books and lives to anyone who joins. This won't be a chat group, of course, just once a month news from us to you. If you're interested in finding out all about us, entering our contests, and hearing all our latest publishing news, you can join our newsletter--entitled RISQUE--and Risque should have an accent over the E and is pronounced like an A but blogger won't let me do that. lol Here's the link--we'd love to have you join!http://groups.yahoo.com/group/risquenewsletter