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Never get in the middle of a fight with a chihuahua

Submitted by on Monday, 27 December 2010 3 Comments

Did you ever do something totally stupid but think that for some reason you were going to get away with it?

Yeah, me, too. All the time. You’d think by now I would have learned that stupidity’s always going to come back and bite me in the butt. In this case, it wasn’t just the butt. It also was the knee. And the hip. And the toe.

It started late afternoon Christmas Day, when I took Rita outside so Big Guy could walk her. She is, after all, supposed to be his dog. I was wearing house shoes because, after all, it was just going to be a quick handoff.

Bwwaaaaaaa ha ha ha ha!

The guys, though, were in the midst of a hot and heavy laser tag battle. Or they would have been if only they could have figured out the guns. Big Guy handed me his for inspection and instructions. It’ll just take a few seconds, then I’ll be on my way back in the house, I thought.

Bwwaaaaaaa ha ha ha ha!

That was before the enemy showed up: Four pounds of fury in the form of a chihuahua on the end of an excessively long leash, one that stretched nearly across the street to Rita. The yippersnapper charged, but Rita obeyed when I told her to sit. She’s good about that with other dogs. Earlier Christmas Day she’d encountered a Yorkie in a Barbie car and a cocker spaniel in a bike trailer. She’d paid no attention, walking calmly past after a cursory sniff in the air.

We’ll be OK, I thought as I watched the girl gather her chihuahua into her arms. I’ll just finish with the laser gun and send Rita out to Big Guy later.

Bwwaaaaaaa ha ha ha ha!

But you know how chihuahuas are. I’ve never met one that didn’t have a serious Napoleon complex, not to mention more guts than brains. I’ve also never met one that didn’t hate me.

Maybe Rita saw the loathing in the smaller dog’s eyes and was bent on protecting me from the mighty mite. Maybe she took it as an insult when the owner not only let the chihuahua down but also proceeded to make another pass down the street in our direction. Maybe she took it as an attack when the chihuahua proceeded to hurl its four pounds of fury toward her.

Rita did what any respectable dog would do when faced with a full frontal assault by a dog less than a tenth its size. She charged back. Her leash momentarily slipped out of my hand, but I made a dive and recaptured it. The chihuahua continued to dance in the street as I kissed concrete. I staggered to my feet – foot, actually, since one someone was mangled in the mishap – and dragged Rita into the house, the yippersnapper continuing to yip. I don’t speak dog, but I think it roughly translated to “neener, neener, neener.”

I’m not sure how my right foot came to be in the state it was in, since the road burn on my butt and the knot on my knee were clear evidence that the bulk of the impact was on the left. The tear at the tip of my precious sock monkey house shoes – not to mention my purple toe – proved that at some point I had hit on my right side, too.

The toe might well be broken but since it was still in line – which is more than I can say about the chihuahua – I didn’t bother to go to the emergency room. A doctor would have done nothing more than say, “Yep, it’s broken” and handed me some pain pills.

Pain pills were sounding good at about 11 that night.

Two days later, the toe almost bends again though the foot is a rainbow of disgusting colors too gross for even the guys to look at. We’re studiously avoiding the area where the chihuahua lives. And I no longer step out the door for even a millisecond in house shoes.

Copyright 2010 Debra Legg. All rights reserved.

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