The night before last, Jeff and I were finishing up a dreadful movie. One of those situations where we were lulled into stupor by something that had to have gone straight to DVD. We headed up to bed and realized that Tucker was not to be found. So around midnight, I find myself outside on the second floor deck to see if he was in the backyard. I heard what has become over the years as a familiar sound: snarling, growling, grunting. I look down and realize that either (a) someone has left an extremely malevolent Russian-type of fur hat that is trying to eat my dog, or (b) Tucker is in round 3 of an Ultimate Fighter match with a racoon.
I flew down the stairs to try and separate them. Armed with a rake, but standing on a wooden chair in the backyard, I am hollering "Jeff! Tucker! Jeff! Tucker! JEFF! TUCKER!" Lord knows what the next door neighbors thought.
Tucker finally relented and the vanquished racoon scampered off.
A quick trip to the vet and I was fast asleep by 1:30 am.
All the while, Mr. Jack made not a peep.
Post Mortem: Tucker has some scratches and looks roughed up but is recovering nicely. We've not seen a racoon in these parts since!
Jake is the best dog. He is wise. He is in harmony with nature. He is nonviolent. He has no unsightly scars. I rest my case, counselors.
ReplyDeletePoor Tucker! I wanna give him a hug!
ReplyDeleteOnce Tucker brought me a dried up stinky rat pelt as a present, and the only reason I knew it was a rat was that it had a tail sticking out of the pelt, and one right foot. It was horrifying and disgusting and did not fall under my job description for dog sitting.
I stood on top of the stool in the kitchen, with Tucker outside a closed door, screamed my head off for him to drop it, and then called a friend on the other side of town to help me. This was around 11 pm.
I am not proud of this, and yet, my heart of hearts says kudos to Tucker for being a kind dog. He is a protector extraordinaire.