Ah Tuesday morning.  I’d just waved goodbye to my sick son – feeling a little guilty sending him off to school as stuffy and half awake as he was. 

Fed the dog, grabbed some coffee – dressed in a long black skirt, a pink sweater and black knee-high boots. 

Plenty of time to relax and play a little Candy Crush on my ipad as I sat outside and enjoyed the breaking dawn.

Chaos erupted.

It sounded like a pretty gnarly dog fight. 

Crap. Where’s Butters??

I none so gingerly plonked my ipad onto my wicker table, spilled my coffee and panicked. 

What to grab? 

What’s going on? 

Get the mace??? 

No … that’s gonna hurt!  And let’s face it, since I don’t react too calmly in chaos, probably I’d be the one hurting when I accidentally sprayed myself in the eye instead of the source of the growling and frantic barking.

Big stick.  I spied a big stick and grabbed it – bravely and briskly walking toward the ruckus. 

Butters was going berserk.  Absolutely, totally, kitten on crack crazy over the neighbors chihuahua. 

(The only picture I could find related to Chihuahuas and Butter lol)

It had slipped under its fence and was under some illusion that it stood a chance against my 65 lb Sharpei/Sherpherd mix. 

It stood (about 7 inches from the ground to the tip of it’s little snack like head) snapping and snarling from the opposite side of my barely-a-fence. 

It’s more like chicken wire … big gaping holes that a very small dog could simply walk right through and into the mouth of my dog.

Please know, Butters is by nature a lover, not a fighter. 

She gets excited when strange dogs go by – wags her tail and wants to play.  Cats – not so much.  And what she must have been thinking was “WHY is this cat barking and baring its teeth so close to my territory?!”  Meanwhile, she was jumping up on the flimsy ‘fence’ and trying to get at the ‘barking cat’.

My first attempt to separate them resulted in Butters slipping her collar.  (Insert Butter joke here _______)

My second attempt, after inserting stick in between dogs, left me with only one option. 

Pick up angry, barking, snarling dog and carry her inside.

Remember now, I’m wearing a long black skirt, pink sweater and boots. 

Nice.

Sixty-five pounds feels a lot like one hundred and sixty-five pounds when it’s still snapping and wriggling and thrashing it’s hindquarters in an angry tantrum.

I plop her down in the house and catch my breath.  My heart is POUNDING.  I can not DO exertion.  No, seriously, I have sinus tachycardia, and walking up a flight of stairs feels like I’ve run a marathon. 

But no time to waste.  I have to leave for work in 20 minutes and there’s still the issue of the rat dog.

I exit from the side door, much to Butters chagrin.  I hear her miserable pleas as I meet up with the trouble maker outside. 

He follows me – rather pleasantly as I head to his house.

“C’mon, let’s get you home.”  He trots along beside me. 

Now,  Chihuahua lives with a friend.  Friend is a corgi.  Corgi seems nice enough. 

I arrive at my neighbors gate and read the ‘Beware of Dog’ sign. 

“Well”, I reason, “I’m WITH the dog”. 

And corgi is nice.

In I go.  Dog is now home and I ring the doorbell to let them know they need to patch the fence so tidbit doesn’t wander into Butterland.

No answer.

But I do now hear the corgi. 

Who proceeds to leap up and nip my arse!!!

Keep calm!  Dogs can smell fear!  Do NOT emit any dog-fear-pheromones!

I ring the bell again. 

Nothing. 

I now have to make it from the front door – to the gate to exit.

Crap.

The corgi is eyeballing me – and preparing to make another move.

I reach the gate and gently block the attack with my boot and scoot out to safety. 

I’m now left with having to patch up the escape route myself. 

I’m picking up rocks, pieces of wood – the dogs are at the fence, snapping at my hands when they get too close to their faces. 

10 minutes ’til I have to leave for work.

I decide I can’t risk coming home to carnage.  Butters will have to stay inside in our absence.

Felt awful all day.  Poor thing.  Was also praying she would use my bathroom if she couldn’t hold ‘it’.  (The tile being easier to clean I mean.  Obviously she can’t use the bathroom … I wish!)

Grabbed some ‘U’ fence posts on the way home (kissed $23 goodbye for those) – figured I could at least reinforce the ‘flimsy’ so she couldn’t leap out after the bugger.

Stopped by the neighbors, who still weren’t home, but did get to explain what happened to a friend of theirs who happened to be out front.

Came home, threw off my dog hair covered black skirt and pink sweater and went out to sledgehammer in those posts.

Considered using the hammer another way – but I borrowed it from a friend and don’t want to stick her with evidence.