Seriously, who wouldn't fear this dog? He was 7 pounds of fur-covered steel!
So how’s this for drama? Last night I was in bed, reading, about to drift off to sleep when I heard the unmistakable sound of a door opening downstairs.Which I would have chalked off to imagination except my ridiculous animal jumped from the bed in the same instant and flew downstairs in a barking frenzy.
In any case, I freaked out a little…after all, why would my doors be opening at 1:00 in the morning, particularly when I am POSITIVE I locked them before retiring to my room for the night?
But ever the intrepid homeowner, I snuck to the stairs and yelled “Hello!”
Which, in retrospect is kind of stupid. What kind of moron actually welcomes the crazed rapist into her home?
Anyway, after I yelled, I heard more movement, more hysterical barking, and pondered what to do…I thought I would feel silly calling 911, I mean what if there was no one there? Then what? However, I quickly decided I would rather feel silly than feel dead so I made the call.
You should all take a minute and feel a little twinge of pity for the 911 operator who had to deal with me. She was trying to calm me down and give me instructions, like to lock myself in my bedroom, and I was crying and telling her I had to go downstairs and get my dog.
“I’m sure your dog will be fine,” she said. “Dogs can take care of themselves.”
Which, honestly, just proved she had never met my dog.“My dog is a Chihuahua!” I yelled. “He’s a fat little Chihuahua that couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag!” Then I began screaming his name in a style reminiscent of Stanley screaming for Stella in A Streetcar Named Desire.
I’m sure that was lovely for the 911 operator.
I’m sure she was also somewhat convinced that there was something seriously wrong with me because, again, my dog’s name is Peek-A-Boo.
“Peek-A-Boo!” I was yelling. “Peek-A-Boo!” Like I was trying to get the intruder to play toddler games with me.
However, the operator stayed calm and managed to convince me that my family would not be pleased if I got myself killed running downstairs to check on my dog (and she’s right, while my folks would obviously be upset to lose me in any circumstance, meeting my demise my life in some unnecessary but some daring doggie rescue would add eight kinds of irritation to their grief.)But my attachment to this ridiculous animal goes somewhat beyond the normal, healthy range so I couldn’t abandon him, especially since I could still hear him running around and barking right in front of the door I'd heard opening. So I started sneaking down the stairs as quietly as I could. And then I heard the door again, swinging shut this time. I grabbed Peek and ran back upstairs, freaking out even more.
And even though the police arrived moments later, I was already well on my way to hyperventilating and having a complete panic attack. Meanwhile, the police searched the outside of the house, then tried to come in to look around and make sure no one was inside
At which point Peek his true concern: No one, he insisted, was crossing the threshold of this house until he got his belly rubbed--preferably while being fed dog treats. He jumped out of my arms, flung himself on the floor in front of the officers, rolled over and yipped at them over and over until one actually caved and petted him.
And then the officer said “Really more of an ‘alarm dog’ than a guard dog, huh?”
It was embarrassing.
I mean, I don’t expect this animal to really go into attack mode or anything but I had just risked my own life to save him so couldn’t he at least pretend to care that strangers were meandering all over our home???