Last week I got into a little spat with God. I was getting ready for bed and grabbed a yellow tank-top. God was like, “Are you sure you want to wear that? I can see your nipples.” And I was all, “God. Seriously? It’s 2017. Women can wear whatever we want, unless they are flying on a buddy pass with United Airlines. I know this because I got my ass chewed on Facebook when I made fun of it remember?” God: “I remember. But that shirt totally shows your nipples.” Me: “So what? You gave me nipples, but while we are on the subject, why do men have nipples?” God pursed his lips and said nothing.
The next morning I dragged myself out of bed and stumbled downstairs. I opened the door to let my dogs out and stepped straight onto the set of Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ video. It was dark, foggy, and totally spooky outside. I made claws with hands and pretended to walk like a zombie on my porch while I waited for my dogs to shit. Usually, they just shit inside, but I am an eternal optimist.
Suddenly, a coyote emerged from the mist covered trees (*like Jacob in Twilight) and grabbed my Yorkie. The thing stared at me for a brief second with my dog dangling from its mouth and then disappeared into the fog. Oh Hellllll No. Coyotes are the creepy, sex trafficking pedophiles of the animal kingdom. I could hear my personal trainer’s voice in my head saying, “Erin. This is what we have been training for. Go get your dog back girl. I believe in you. I believe…” I solemnly nodded and tore off after the bastard.
I chased him in and out of yards, across streets, up and down hills screaming at the top of my lungs, “GIVE ME BACK MY DOG YOU MOTHER FUUUUUUCKER!” I had turned vicious and feral and I was coming for his punk ass. I ran even faster when I thought about the exorbitant HOA fees I pay each month to live in a gated community and the riff-raff was STILL getting in. At some point, the coyote began to assess the risk ratio of this particular hunt and ultimately concluded that he was dealing with a whoooole new level of crazy, even by coyote standards. He dropped my dog and took off.
One of my neighbors stood there frozen in horror as the scene unfolded before her. I ran over to my unconscious dog, scooped her up and headed back home. I laid her down on the couch and yelled for Mike. She was definitely in shock, had a couple of puncture wounds on her neck, but nothing appeared to be broken. A trip to the vet for some antibiotics, a rabies booster, painkillers and the names of three reputable therapists in the area, we were good to go. Miraculously she survived.
Now, apparently when there is an encounter with wildlife, it is necessary to contact the Division of Wildlife. Who will then contact the health department. Who will then lecture you about the dangers of chasing coyotes. If you are me, you will become immediately defensive, roll your eyes and say, “Um yeah, hi. I didn’t do it because I was bored. It had my dog. Duh.” The health inspector will then promptly transfer you.
Your husband will not talk to you for much of the day because sometimes it takes thinking your wife is going to be eaten by a pack of coyotes to realize just how much you love her. One of your other dogs will sneak upstairs and take a shit next to your bed because she is jealous that you gave your other dog CPR and “extra attention.”
Your child will inform you that you will now require “a series of painful injections in your stomach for rabies” and then watch closely to see if you have become excessively thirsty or are frothing at the mouth. Your stepfather will ask if you happened to get the chase on video, to which you will reply, “Wouldn’t you know, this is the one morning I forgot to strap on my “Go-Pro” camera when I woke up to record my dogs shitting?” He will shake his head in palpable disappointment. And you will stare off with your head tilted and your eye squinted.
You will realize the entire neighborhood likely saw their dentist’s wife chasing a coyote at the crack of dawn, screaming profanities, and flashing her nipples because she was wearing that stupid yellow tank-top. And lastly, you will come to the conclusion that you would do it all again because you love your dog. XO