What Happens After We’re Closed for the Night

At just before 9 tonight, our house came alive to the point that I now have a massive headache. Thankfully, all the doors were shut and everyone was in for the night… well, at least for the most part.

We’ve all heard the sound of a coonhound in full-on “kill mode.” If not, Google it, turn the volume all the way up, then throw your phone into a metal garbage can and kick it down the stairs. You’ll be getting close.

I swear to God, this idiot was practically hanging from the curtain rods trying to get a better view of God knows what. Meanwhile, Jackie was right there providing backup vocals, because apparently this was now a full-blown emergency requiring the entire neighbourhood to be notified.

And here’s me, yelling like I’m beating them into their graves while grabbing for the whistle, desperately trying to create some resemblance of a command. Yeah, that didn’t help.

I might as well have been standing there whispering lullabies so I didn’t wake a sleeping baby. The two of them are going off like somebody shoved a cattle prod in their ass, and absolutely nothing coming out of my mouth is registering.

Not their names, not the whistle, not even “LET IT GO!” Not a damn thing.

Now, you’d think after living with coonhounds I would have learned that when they’re carrying on like this, there’s usually a reason. But apparently I’m no brighter than they are, because eventually I need to look for myself.

So I make my way over to the window expecting a squirrel, maybe a rabbit, or perhaps Groundskeeper Wille (our new neighbourhood Groundhog ) or even one of the neighbourhood cats has made another questionable life choice. Nope.

There, halfway up a tree and staring directly back at us, is Rocky’s newest family. Just sitting there looking through the window at the two screaming lunatics below like they’re wondering what the hell is wrong with them.

And that’s when I realized the dogs weren’t going to stop, the raccoons weren’t going anywhere, and I was apparently the only one in the house who had a problem with any of this. 

So, out I trot, stealthily unwind the water hose while keeping one eye on them and the other so I don’t step in a pile of crap from the kids doing their nightly business before.  Once reaching the fence line, the bastards still have not noticed my stealthy approach.  With an outstretched arm, I aim and SQUEZZE that nozzle  with all I got only to find what little water pressure was there was not enough to reach.  

Like a cartoon on a Saturday morning, the four of them scampered down the branch to gain further distance between the newly introduced rain shower and themselves.  As they are huddled into a ball of furry family at the very end of the branch like the cowards they are, I notice the branch slowly sinking with their garbage-trashcan-filled bellies, hoping it would break under the weight… Nope, so there I am, screaming dogs falling over themselves at the window, bare feet in water-soaked grass and beaten by defeat all while hoping like hell I didn’t step in something I shouldn’t have.

God give me the wisdom to accept the things I cannot change.