I planned a fun quiet evening for Caymen and myself at home. An evening that unexpectedly kicked off with a dog fight. Not a playful oh-look-how-cute-they-are-wrestling dog fight. No no. This started over a rawhide chew stick and ended with Quincy attached to Summer's face, drool flying, me screaming and throwing things at them while Caymen cried until it finally broke up and they bolted into separate rooms.
I broke the awkward silence that followed.
"Ok! Who wants to make cookies?"
A fast food dinner of her choice eventually consoled her. "Can we take the dogs, mommy?"
You've gotta be kidding me. But seeing as she'd just witnessed me pelting them with 2 tv remotes and a cell phone, I caved.
I loudly asked the question that brings our dogs running. "Who wants to go bye bye?!"
Apparently I'd been forgiven because they all showed up in the foyer. While I gathered my purse and keys Caymen yelled, "Where's Summer's eye?!" What the... I looked down to see her wagging her tail and excitedly looking up at me with one normal eye and what appeared to be a bloody hole where the other one should have been.
Oh my dear Lord, as I teetered between vomiting and passing out. Blissfully unaware, Summer anxiously waited with Tia and Quincy for me to open the door and I suggested that maybe Summer should stay home. Caymen scolded, "You already said bye bye. You'll hurt her feelings if you don't take her now."
I'd have so much more power here if she hadn't seen my involvement in that dog fight. "FINE!!" Then I sealed the deal by opening the garage door and saying, "Load up."
That's when I realized Ron had taken the van and there sat his giant pick-up truck, the back end loaded down and piled high with stuff intended for the dump with Caymen's old motorized police car balanced on the very top of the junk pile.
I looked down at Caymen with pleading eyes but she firmly said, "I guess we're taking the truck." Dammit.
Tia and Quincy sat in the front with me while Summer jumped into the back with Caymen. As we pulled out of the driveway I heard Caymen say, "Just don't look at me, Summer."
Can't blame her there.
We miraculously made it the 20 miles to the Wendy's drive-thru without the police car flying off the back, placed our order and pulled around to the window where all hell broke loose. Quincy began barking and trying to climb through the window toward the attendant, which prompted Tia's low threatening growl that combined with her 90 lb German Shepherd body is enough to scare the pee down someone's leg, and then Caymen started screaming from the back seat, "She's looking at me!!!" over and over while Summer sat on her lap.
These are the moments when we count it a success if nobody calls the police on us.
When Ron got home we compared evenings.
Him: "Ours wasn't that scary."
Me: "Ours was terrifying."
Update: Summer went to the vet. Turns out her eye isn't gone, but it either rolled into the back of her head or something about dogs having a 3rd eyelid. I don't know. The important thing is, the eye is back. It's bloodshot, doesn't blink and it's always looking off to the right, but hey, it's back.
In other dog news this week: Tia awoke with explosive diarrhea in the middle of the night, I turned on the hose in our pitch dark yard to wash out her cage, a startled bird flew out from under the overhang, slapped me in the side of the face and I spent the next 48 hours cooking her giant servings of rice and force feeding her doses of Pepto Bismol.
But I digress. That wasn't fright night.
Around here we call that Wednesday.
From our freak show to yours.