“Yer daddy’s a hee-ro! A real hee-ro! I hope ya’ll know that!” the slightly racist harpy neighbor down the street called to Violet and Graham after the police and animal control had left. She was the one who had called 911. I, myself, had only been helpful by doing laundry.
The weather was so nice that Sunday morning, even at 8:30 a.m., I had opened the laundry room window . That’s why, while transferring wet clothes to the dryer, I heard the screams.
I flew through the kitchen into the living room and out the front door shouting, “Rob! Someone is being attacked by dogs!” Vaguely aware I was barefoot and in pajamas, I sprinted across the front yard and down the street, stopping just short of a snarling growling seething ball of teeth. Two giant dogs were trying to kill two tiny dogs (a.ka. snacks) while their owner was screaming and beating the strays with a stick. At this point I realized I could do exactly… nothing. “Uhhh… go home!” I yelled in a stern voice, and looked around helplessly.
That was when Rob came charging out of the house, also barefoot and in pjs, brandishing the Shark mop. He fearlessly jumped into the melee trying to beat back the brutes while avoiding their heads and the tiny dogs clamped in their jaws.
Violet and Graham were hovering, terrified and fascinated, in the doorway. “Violet! Call 911!” I shouted. Rob continued to whack the dogs. Nothing.
“Mom!? The phone isn’t working!” Fight, whack, snarl, whack.
“Press ‘talk’ first!” Growl, whack, bite, whack.
“Nothing’s happening!” Nothing seemed to be happening with the dog fight either. Then, suddenly, the female limped off to the side and sat, panting, under a tree. The male immediately lost interest and followed her. The woman scooped up her tiny dogs and ran.
“I already called 911!” Shouted the slightly racist neighbor from the safety of her home.
The strays, now that they weren’t trying to hunt snacks, were perfectly friendly; the male even seemed to regard Shark-mop-wielding Rob as the new Alpha and approached, smiling and wagging his tail. Not fooled, we herded the snack-sized kids inside.
The police finally arrived and the now docile dogs put themselves under arrest. The female climbed into the front seat and the male cheerfully jumped into the back. I felt sorry for them then. They weren’t necessarily bad dogs, they just had really terrible owners. The poor female looked like she had had about 20 litters, and the male was obviously a slave to his hormones. I sincerely hope the animal shelter snips every stray that comes in so this kind of thing stops happening. (just a little PSA)
Later that day the little lady who had been walking her little dogs came over with a huge paper sack full of satsuma oranges from her backyard. She wanted to thank us and let us know she and her puppies were okay. The strays hadn’t touched her, and the yippy dogs just had a few scratches. “That lady called the police because her husband and dog were also attacked this morning. Actually,” she giggled, “they only managed to pull his pants down.”
The Shark mop, on the other hand, did not come out of this encounter unscathed. While it does an admirable job steaming the tile, it does not hold up with prolonged use as a weapon.
It will be sorely missed.