I’m maybe not built for this whole country living thing. I’m too unrealistic. Too idealistic. Everyone thinks about country life as this idyllic, peaceful existence, but not always, my friends. Not always. Especially not if you have to run with Buck.
Yeah. There he is. Looks sweet. Except he’s NOT. Because he’s a KILLER. A RECREATIONAL killer.
It happened this morning. I set out for my run at 8 a.m., Buck trotting alongside. I wasn’t too concerned, because Buck has the worst case of ADD I’ve ever seen in a dog, and we all know that’s saying a lot. Dogs are known for many admirable qualities, attention never, ever being part of that list. Being a typical dog, Buck usually starts my run, then peels off after about 1.7 seconds, chasing wildly after some invisible creature.
Today was different. Today Buck was determined to stay with me. Even after I, becoming worried about his proximity to the cars – and that’s another thing, country people drive like MANIACS – began to yell at him to go home. He stuck with me. Even better, somewhere around mile 2, he picked up a pal, a large red boxer type dog who would later body check me as he tore off into a field after a rabbit.
Anyway. Dumb Red Dog (DRD) is now with us, and we’re all trotting down the road when we pass a sweet little red brick house. It’s lined with beautiful blue hydrangeas and a seventies Oldsmobile (such an appropriate name, I’m now realizing) sits in the driveway. It’s a grandmother house. Quiet. Shady. One of those free-standing, canopied swings under a huge tree in the yard. And then I notice something else under that tree: a raccoon waddling toward the trunk. He looks maybe old or injured because he’s not moving so well. I think, Awww, poor little guy. He’s so adorable. And that’s precisely when Buck sinks his teeth into the racoon’s ass.
DRD latches onto the head.
They begin a maniacal tug of war.
This is where I become a lunatic. I run into this probably elderly person’s yard SCREAMING. I’m crying, too, and I’m picking up every pebble I can find to launch at these wretched creatures, who pay no attention to me WHATSOEVER.
Eventually I had to run away. I was sobbing. Sobbing and running, not an easy thing to do, but they just wouldn’t listen to me and if the grandmother inside that house hadn’t had a heart attack from my outburst, she had at least called the police, surely. So I’m running and sobbing. And then – here’s the worst of it – the stupid dogs appear. It’s been less than a minute, and here they are, grinning and high-fiving each other. So I scream at them some more. Because they are bloodthirsty, horrible creatures who kill JUST FOR FUN.
And that’s about when DRD slams into me in hot pursuit. Damn dogs.
My only consolation is that Buck was in no condition for that run. I beat him home by at least fifteen minutes, and when he showed up, he was wiped out. He’s been lying on the porch, an unmoving pile of exhausted dog, ever since. Serves him right.