I had an assignment covering an Oktoberfest over in Mr. Stapler's neck of the woods today. He wanted to go with me so I thought we would pass a pleasant day: festival, snackies, write the story, walk the dogs, have a little dinner, maybe a DVD. Nice.
Instead, I ended up soaking wet with my back wrenched, covered in spit and hair, trembling from a bad case of adrenaline overload.
What about Mr. Stapler? Did he fare better? Sprained wrist, two deep puncture wounds, wet, covered in spit and hair. So, no, not better.
Mrs. Chicky might want to sit down for this one.
My dear dog Goldie and Mr. Stapler's dog Kelly have had a rough relationship. Two alpha females. Kelly now lives in the house where Goldie lived for 4 years, so both dogs think they own the place. Not a recipe for true dog happiness.
They have had a couple scuffles before, but in my Pollyanna mind, I thought they would get over it as time went by.
Today they proved me wrong. They were ok at first, but Goldie jealously began hoarding all the toys and bones. Finally Kelly got a bone and trotted off with it. Goldie waited until Kelly was in a vulnerable position and attacked her.
Not a "growl snap" kind of attack. An "I'm going to kill you, you little bitch, if it is the last thing I do, I really mean it" attack. They were a sudden blur of fur and screaming.
I went to grab the dogs and haul them out of the kitchen doorway where they were fighting (never let it be said that I am not an idiot). Kelly got free from Goldie's grip and attacked Goldie, latching onto her scruff.
I pounded on Kelly's head as hard as I could with my hand, screaming. I was hitting her HARD. She wouldn't stop.
Mr. Stapler grabbed them. In the frenzy, Goldie bit him as hard as she could on the wrist. "OW!!!" he yelled. He dropped the dogs and grabbed his wrist.
"The water! Spray them with the f***ing water!!" Mr. Stapler yelled.
"I DON'T HAVE ANY WATER!!" I screamed, looking around, thinking he was insane.
He came over and turned the kitchen sprayer on the dogs, which had the effect of soaking all of us and making the kitchen floor super slippery.
Kelly still had a death grip on Goldie's scruff all this time. I slid across the floor, trying to pry her mouth off, no luck. Mr. Stapler pulled on Kelly - she would not let go and Goldie's scruff was stretching further and further.
We finally wrestled them outside and hosed them down with the big hose, getting us even wetter. One piece of advice: the water thing on fighting dogs? Doesn't really work.
Somehow we finally parted them and put them on opposite sides of the pool fence. Mr. Stapler lay on his back with his wrist in the pool. I bumbled around, dripping, drying off dogs and myself, mopping the floor with Mr Stapler helping me.
I loaded Goldie in the car and we limped home, stinking of spit.
My inventory shows she has two puncture wounds in her head and a gash by her ear. I am pondering the hundreds of dollars the emergency vet would vacuum out of my wallet and whether neosporin would fix everything and how guilty I'm going to feel if it doesn't.
The moral of the story: don't think two mean bitches will work it out between themselves.