The Dogfight

Horror on a calm winter night

© Bryan Zepp Jamieson
1/25/07
http://www.zeppscommentaries.com/Humor/dogfight.htm

 

When you own dogs, you always have to be on the watch for any signs of friction. Dogs, of course, can get into bloody and sometimes fatal fights over anything from a female in heat to a discussion over who gets first shot at the food bowl. Having a bowl for each dog rarely solves the problem: the dogs will all congregate at one bowl and argue over pecking order. And the females will go into heat anyway.

The night of the big fight didn’t seem fraught with foreshadowing. It was a clear, cold winter of a night, with a thin crust of hard-frozen snow covering hibernating lawns. A hare hopped from shadow to moonlight, scrabbling in vain for a morsel of grass. He lifted his nose to the air and sniffed, and thought, “Christ! I’m moving to Florida!”

Having opposable thumbs and an opposable brain, I was inside, snug and warm. Neither of my dogs had opposable thumbs or opposable brains, but they had me as their sucker. So they, too, were inside, snug and warm, and not outside chasing hares as nature dictated.

The challenger was Item A, a chocolate lab that weighed in at about 110 pounds and was 17 years old. Mostly blind and hobbled by a long-ago traffic accident, her favorite hobbies were eating and crapping. The champion was Moon, a 12 year old Samoyed weighing in at 70 pounds. Moon was neither blind nor crippled, but was generally too lazy to take advantage of either. Moon’s favorite hobbies were eating and crapping.

It was a few minutes after 7pm on that crisp winter night. The president was just finishing his state of the union address, and while giving it my professional attention in order to write a political commentary on it, I was pleased to discover I had solved the Sunday Sudoku puzzle in my paper. While I frequently can count to nine unassisted, the Sunday puzzle was usually a challenge for me.

I heard a faint growl, and glanced down, surprised. The two old ladies were lying on the carpet facing one another, noses perhaps two inches apart. They appeared to be sound asleep, which is how they spend their time when they aren’t eating or crapping. I concluded that the growl I heard was a result of the jambalaya rice I had for dinner, and resolved to take an antacid tablet should the sound reoccur.

In retrospect, I wish I had been more alert, more prepared for trouble. In my defense, it was a quiet night combined with a soporific president, and my spidey-sense was caught in a web of its own device.

For a few minutes, nothing happened. Jim Webb gave the Democratic response, which caused me to nod in self-satisfaction at the “web of my own device” pun.

I heard a growl, and this time there was no mistaking it. I glanced down at my supine canoids, wondering which one growled, and why. Was there a hare in the front yard?

Item A essayed a deep sigh, and curling her lip ever so slightly, growled. I thought about reaching down and petting her, thinking she was dreaming about Republicans getting into the grain or something.

Moon growled. It wasn’t a very loud growl, but it lasted about ten seconds, the growl of a dog who is nearly at the end of her patience. Perhaps, I thought, she was dreaming that Republicans were sitting on the back yard fence, yowling and stretching and flicking their tails in an insolent manner.

Item A growled, this time from deep in her throat. Now thoroughly perplexed and slightly alarmed, I moved my soda to the middle of the table. I had heard that animals often acted strangely just before a major volcanic eruption, and if there was about to be a major volcanic eruption, I didn’t want my soda spilling all over everything.

Moon snarled, trailing off into a ripping growl. Both dogs were lying on their sides, still facing one another, but with eyes closed.

Item A snarled, and “woofed” once – a deep sound useful for knocking grime off the blades of the ceiling fans. Moon opened one eye slightly and gave three staccato barks. Item A opened one eye, presumably to create the impression that she took an interest in her surroundings, and let off several resounding barks. Moon shoved her nose an inch closer to Item A, and she barked once, loudly. Item A responded with a deep chest growl.

At this point my Siamese mix came in. He didn’t have an opposable thumb, but he was nonetheless able to communicate that the two dogs had captured his interest, and he wanted to know What The Fuck? I mean, What The Fuck?

Moon gave out a ripping snarl, the sound of Hannibal Lector tearing a bedsheet in half. Item A gave a couple of barks. By now, both dogs had their eyes open.

The exchange increased to an exchange of angry barks, sea lions opining on polar bears. The cat decided this bore watching, and leapt up on the table, spilling my soda.

The barking increased to a crescendo, and my wife walked in. Having an opposable thumb, she hooked it at the dogs and gave me a look. What The Fuck? I mean, What The Fuck?

The dogs each raised their heads, which is to say the both slid their noses along the carpet to point 90 degrees from the angle of their spines, and they barked furiously for a couple of minutes.

The barking slowed, came to a stop. The growling continued for a few minutes and each dog closed her eyes. Item A essayed one last throat rumble. Her response from Moon was a snore.

The crisis had passed. I looked around the living room, relieved to discover that the only damage was to my soda and my cat’s equanimity, and that my wife and I still both possessed our opposable thumbs.

Let this be a lesson. If you are watching the SOTU and playing Sudoku, and the dogs begin growling, don’t do anything. My soda might still be with us if I hadn’t moved it, although by now it would be too flat to drink.

Thank you, and good night.