Let’s just get this straight from the start: I don’t enjoy beating dogs. Really, I don’t.
Today is the second day that our house is on the market. I’m feeling a little lucky so far because I have potential buyers that were coming by this morning. I want to make them cookies and opium so that they will buy this house and I can move. Maybe just a few poppy seeds so that they are not to critical on my paint jobs.
But when people want to come to see the house this does pose somewhat of a problem. The unwritten rule is that no one should be in the house. This means that I pack up a toddler, an infant and 2 dogs. Our dogs aren’t exactly small, which should also be pointed out at the beginning of this blog. It’s kind of a hassle and there is a part of me that wonders if the buyers came in and saw me naked on the couch, in all my glory, would the house sell any faster? Perhaps young Skywalker, perhaps.
Today we had buyers that were coming by early, 9:00am. Anyone with kids knows that this is early because you don’t move fast. Add 20 minutes to any activity or deadline and that’s about how fast we move. But I had brought my A game and was on top of it.
I get everyone to the door and start to make for the car. I figure we’ll drive around for an hour challenging young punks in mustangs to drag races at stop lights. I know that I intimidate them with my 2 dogs, toddler and infant.
I open the back of our SUV and begin trying to load the Fat Belly Newt in it. Our other dog is a Boxer and I admit, drop dead gorgeous. He is the kind of handsome dog that you expect to see in front a dead Rhino on safari with Teddy Roosevelt. If the realtor would let him stay, no doubt this house would sell.
The Fat Belly Newt though is more like his ugly step sister. She’s a mutt of some type. I think that she is a mix between a Beagle and Crisco. She has a little pea head and a fat gut. Her spots take away from her busted ear that doesn’t stand up but kind of hangs limp like a half raised flag, which is at half mast for her youth.
We found the Newt at a lake abandoned and we are suckers. We took her in and she has been Hoss ever since. The thing about Newt though is that she is street. She wants to fight way more than the boxer and she can whip a little ass. The Boxer, who is 60 lbs, looks great, sounds great, but is a sissy. He might be gay. Newt is butch, no doubt. She’s 50 pounds of prison love.
I got the Fat Belly Newt up in the back of the car when another neighborhood dog came out of no where. It looked like a Golden Retriever but maybe only 7 or 8 months old. The dog came straight up to me and started licking my leg.
Then things got nasty.
The Fat Belly Newt, who fights dirty as hell, pounced from the back of the car. It happened so fast that I thought she lost ten pounds just from the speed of the leap. The other dog had no idea she was coming but looked up just in time to see a wind blown gut raining down on her. It’s quickness was the only thing that saved it from being smushed.
Then my boxer got into it. He doesn’t fight a whole lot with other dogs but when Newt calls the shots, he’s in. I had one by a harness and I was reaching for the other one. I was getting twisted around and my daughter was starting to walk out to see what was going on. She’s dragging my son’s car seat behind her. She likes to help.
There’s fur flying everywhere. There are snarls, barks and I think a midget getting tossed and Newt pulled a shank but that may be only the Opiates talking. I’m yelling at everyone. “Little Hoss, back in the house!” “Newt, in the car!” “Newt, in the car!” And because I am Dad, no one is listening.
I throw some kicks and I don’t know who I hit but I connect with someone. It doesn’t stop anyone. I reach down and pick up the Fat Belly Newt who is still snipping away and toss her in the back and shut the door. The Boxer takes this opportunity to show his Alpha Dog self and body checks the pup. I swear to god that dog flew 10 feet.
Before my boxer can go for the finish I pick him up by his handsome slender waist and open the window to the car so that the Newt can’t get out. I shove him through while I’m continually yelling at anyone who chooses to ignore me.
It marvels me sometimes my own strength when I can toss a 60 pound dog like a sack of flour. I realize that I may be Superhuman, perhaps Superman. Although Batman is more like it as I carry a utility belt with me, known as the “Diaper Bag.” This is not like your ordinary diaper bag, it’s a superhero’s diaper bag. I know few moms that keep pliers, a screwdriver and a knife in there bag. Yes, I’m Batman. I like that. It’s better than “Stay at home dad”. I am the Batman of at home parenting and this is my most recent comic.
And because I am Batman that means I have to help the little guy, like the puppy who is obviously lost. I get him calmed down and put him on one of my leashes that I take out from my utility belt.
This story has a happy ending. The dogs name was Vince and he had a number on his collar. I tie him up to the fence, load my kids and call the owner who happens to be in his car looking for good old Vince. My buyers are supposed to show up any minute now to see the house but I’ve got a higher cause here, so we wait for Vince’s owner who shows up pretty quick.
There is blood on Vince but I explain to the owner that it belongs to my 60 pound boxer who along with his stunning good looks and broad chest, has inherited a weak chin that bleeds when he so much as sneezes.
And like that, the Fat Belly Newt, the Boxer, the Toddler and the Infant are gone, like we never existed. We are shrouded in mystery and no one but Vince knows that a good deed was done.
Please buy my house, this sucks.