So we're just doing our thing, when someone knocked on the door. The Boy said "Daddy's home!" excitedly, as I looked outside. "Not unless your dad is a 20 something male model wearing a 90s Mexican poncho" I thought. I scooped up The Boy and opened the door to Poncho Man, suspiciously. It was getting dark and I didn't know what he wanted.
Poncho Villa: Is this your dog?
Oh no! Prissy must've gotten out of the fence.
Me: Probably. Did she get out?
Poncho Villa (points toward the road): She just got hit.
A surge of emotion got stuck in my throat. Priss! I've had her for more than 8 years. The Husband gave her to me for my birthday my first year out of college, when I was working and living in an apartment a la Queen Latifah in Living Single. She's now tinged with grey, and walks slowly on the stairs. She's not the smartest, but she is the sweetest. She tolerates a lot from The Boy, and he loves her so. Poncho Villa explained that the car hadn't stopped, but that he'd seen it and stopped to let us know. I tried not to cry as I walked outside to survey the situation.
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There was a woman outside, sobbing. It was still light out, but a full moon hung in the pink sky. Poncho Villa called out to her sternly, "Don't try to touch it! She already tried to bite me!" Oh no. Oh no. This sounded bad. I debated whether to take The Boy inside, but I didn't want to leave him alone. Though he's clearly my favorite, I couldn't leave either of my loves.
We rounded the corner to the front yard. I was preparing for heartache. There lie a little cocker spaniel, clearly in pain. You'll notice Prissy is a beagle. I'd be lying if I said I weren't a little relieved. It wasn't Priss! Now that I think of it, I did remember us putting her safely in her crate when she tried to eat The Boy's popcorn earlier. Thank God!
I breathed a sigh of relief. The Boy asked "what's wrong with dat dog?" I explained that he was hurt, and we weren't going to touch him. The dog wasn't using his back legs, he was dragging himself pitifully with his front legs, and clearly feeling threatened when approached. Bless him. I weighed the effects of The Boy witnessing all this and possibly being traumatized. The Sobbing Lady tried to get closer and the dog growled, barked, and snapped at her. Poncho Villa snapped at her too. She sobbed. I held The Boy tight and retreated into the garage.
These people were kind. I told them I didn't know who the beautiful dog belonged to. Poncho Villa asked if I could call animal control, and then he walked off toward the neighbor's house. The Sobbing Lady stood in the yard and sobbed. I called, but no one answered since it was after 5:00. By the time I got outside, Poncho Villa had made it door-to-door down the street.
He and a man in a flannel shirt who looked like his name was Dwight were walking back to our house. It was Dwight's dog. I came in to get a leash. Dwight tried to get close to the dog, but he was retreating into our bushes. Poncho Villa told me he didn't think a leash would help, because the dog couldn't walk. I explained to The Boy that we were trying to be good helpers. I went to fetch some old towels, and delivered them. Poncho Villa shook his head sadly and told me he didn't think the dog would make it. Dwight managed to get the dog wrapped up in the towels and was walking with him home. A crowd of family members waited in the front yard for Dwight and the dog to return. Poncho Villa and The Sobbing Lady stayed until they were gone, we thanked each other, and they left.
After the chaos was over and all my dependents safe and accounted for, I turned my attention to The Boy to make sure he wasn't traumatized. The thought of that happening to Prissy made me tear up.
"Why you crying mama?"
I'm just feeling sad for that little dog who got hurt. It's okay to feel sad, and it's okay to cry. Everyone feels sad sometimes.
Have I mentioned I'm a therapist?
"That dog better now, mama?"
I don't know, buddy. It was really hurt.
"That dog scared, mama. He sad and he hurt. We don't touch scared dogs."
Right, buddy. When dogs are scared they might bite.
"But when dogs not scared they don't bite!" he said, happily.
Tears rolled down my cheeks.
"When I pet Prissy she's not scared and she doesn't bite me!"
Right.
"Dogs are soft."
Yes, buddy.
"And cats are soft."
Yes.
"And horses are soft."
Yes.
"But moo cows are not soft. We don't pet moo cows."
Right....
"Are lions soft, mama?"
I guess so.
"Lions not bite me!"
Well, we don't touch lions.
"Why?"
There aren't any lions near here. They're far away.
"Why lions far away mama?"
I don't know.
"If I go far away and I see a lion I pet it and it will be soft and it won't bite me."
Okay.
So much for having a moment for grieving the dying dog. We are long gone on an African safari petting soft lions. I laughed. At least The Boy wasn't traumatized.
About 30 minutes later there was another knock at the door. I scooped The Boy up and went to the door, suspiciously again. There stood Dwight and a teenager. I said hello.
Dwight said "Hey. It's me. From earlier. With the dog." I told him I remembered him. He came by to tell me thank you, and that the dog was fine. Fine? Yes, ma'am, he's just fine. He was only in shock. I was speechless. I told Dwight the dog was beautiful, and he was on his way.
A few minutes later The Husband got home. I prompted The Boy to "tell daddy what happened tonight." The Boy looked at me and said "What??"
Really? An injured dog, strangers in ponchos, strangers crying, in and out with a leash and towels, a dog on the verge of death who made an alleged recovery in half an hour...... and he's wondering what I'm referring to?
I asked him "Why did those people come to our house?"
His response: "Da dog got hurt, it got hit by a car in de road. Mama feeling a wittle bit sad about it."
The End. Definitely not traumatized.
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