The lovely you gotta wonder commented on last night's rumination on dating with these insightful words:
My last 2 posts highlight my husband's removing live critters (snake and bird) that Al the killer cat brought into the house. Just giving you the perspective. When I think "why do I put up with his BS?" I will remember the snake and the bird. And the other critters (alive or dead) that he gets to deal with.
Obviously, she's got a point. Unfortunately, I was reminded yet again last night how vitally important critter removal is.
Last night, I let Foxie Doxie and Lil' Frankfurter outside for their right-before-bed constitutional.
Actually, Lil' Frank refused to go out. So I picked him up and cuddled him and prepared to ceremoniously dump this disobedient ass on the deck - when I heard what can best be described as a clatter.
It was Foxie. Barking his head off in the pitch-black. And then? Then, there was hissing.
It was a possum. A humongous possum that was really pissed off that his evening constitutional was interrupted by a loud, indignant and uncouth dachshund.
I dropped Lil' Frank, who scampered back into the house. Then, I proceeded to try to convince Foxie to leave the varmint and come inside.
I wasn't terribly successful. Or, really, successful at all.
Foxie ended up underneath the deck, barking incessantly at the cornered possum, who hissed like he was going to kick some serious ass. Add the visual of me - in my nightgown, natch - standing on the deck, yelling at Foxie and occasionally jabbing a broom under the deck, trying to make something - anything - happen, and you've got a whole lot of whiskey tango.
This went on for 20 minutes. Finally, I called my friend CB. He fit two important criteria: a) he's a night owl and therefore wouldn't hate me forever for calling at 11:10; and b) he's an Eagle Scout and therefore should automatically know what to do in such situations.
CB assured me that the possum wouldn't hurt anybody, and suggested I attempt to lure Foxie with his favorite food. CB was also kind enough to pretend like I really was facing a horrific test.
I hung up, armed myself with cheese, and attempted to sweet talk Foxie again.
And, again, he ignored me. And then? Then, it started to rain. A lot.
The barking and the hissing continued. Finally, after I looked like a participant in a wet t-shirt contest, I used the broom to pry the crappy fencing off the side of the deck. You know - it's the fencing that's supposed to keep doxies and varmints from getting under the deck in the first place?
Yeah. That fencing is dead to me.
And then I used the broom to poke the possum so he realized that he could move around. He made a run for it. And I was able to grab Foxie and drag his muddy but very satisfied self into the house.
Upon returning to the house, I realized that Lil' Frank had been so upset by the barking and hissing and yelling and improper broom usage that he had run around the house peeing. Not purposely marking - no, that would be too easy to clean up. No, Lil' Frank ran laps around the house, not having control of his nervous bladder.
So, at 11:45, I commenced bathing both dogs and cleaning pretty much every square inch of my floors. Then, I took a hot shower, because I was freezing and soaked to the bone. Plus? I was a teensy bit annoyed.
So, yeah, you gotta wonder. I totally understand where you're coming from.