Weekend Assignment #48: When Pets Attack!

Recount an amusing tale of a pet attacking someone or something. By "amusing," I mean that a) no one was seriously injured, least of all the pet (pet humiliation is okay), b) you laughed about it at the time, or sometime shortly thereafter. You know: Funny! Okay, then.

Extra Credit: Ever seen your cat/dog walk right into a sliding glass door? Do tell.

I've mentioned this story before...ages ago in a post about my brother. But it's pretty funny, so I'll repeat it.

In 1960 my Mom saw a cute Doris Day movie called Please Don't Eat the Daisies. She fell in love with the family sheep dog and decided right then that one day, when she got married and had a family, that they would have a sheep dog. Fast forward 15 years...

After the untimely death of family dog #2, Buffy the cocker spaniel, from throat cancer; Mom decided that it was time to bring that long dreamt of sheep dog into the family.

After some research, we visited a reputable breeder and fell in love with an adorable white male ball of fluff. He was the last in his litter. For some reason, he was marked down. Something to do with him having too big a head or some other superficial factor that made him not "show quality" like his siblings. Didn't matter to us. We weren't looking for the next Westminster champ.

And dog #3, Benjamin the sheepdog, came home with us. It swiftly became apparent that we had bitten off more than we could chew as Ben also bit off more than HE could chew...on the coffee table, sofa, shoes and even the wooden shakes off the side of the house. He chewed on EVERYTHING - lamp cords...a shock from a lamp in the family room did nothing to discourage this dangerous habit.

My parents tried everything to get the dog to chill out and behave. He was impossible to train. He was the dumbest dog we'd ever had. My Dad would rain blows upon Ben's nose and head with a rolledup newspaper (I know...that's bad) and all Ben would do is sneeze and shake his head. Dense. Thick. Hopeless.

One crisp winter morning, my little brother (then about 5 or 6) was eager to go outside in the yard to frolic in the snow. My mother was still in her robe and slippers, but she got my brother all bundled up in his snow suit, parka, hat, mittens and scarf to go out to play. Ben was also outside having a ball in the snow.

I was too busy watching my Saturday morning cartoons to join in the snowy fun. My mother was wrapped up in washing the breakfast dishes. I heard a yell from the yard. I went to the sliding glass door to look outside. I saw something that immediately got me laughing hysterically. Ben was playing his favorite game...tug-o-war. Sadly, he was playing the game with the scarf that was wrapped around my brother's neck.

My brother was struggling to stay on his feet as the darn dog was pulling on the scarf and thrashing his head violently from side to side, jerking my brother about in the process. My brother was bellowing "MOM!" at the top of his lungs. He looked like a rag doll. Oh was too funny for words!

Then the dog did something unexpected. With a vise-like grip on the scarf in his jaws, Ben took off running. My brother was jerked off his feet, airborne for a second or two, landed with a thud and then he was turned into a human toboggan. The dog raced around the yard dragging my brother by his neck.

I stopped laughing. I began to wonder if my brother could breath. I went into the kitchen and casually said the following to my mother in a calm tone; "Um, Mom? Ben grabbed Mike's scarf and is dragging him around the yard." Mom's reaction; "WHAT?!?!" She ran and looked out the window, screamed, and ran out the back door, in her robe and slippers, to rescue my brother.

What happened next was a hilarious game of "keep away" between the dog and my mother. The dog was winning. She would get close to my brother and the dog's front half would be hunched down in anticipation and his back end would be wiggling from side to side with excitement. He would run away at the last moment, taking my brother with him.

The snow was up to my mother's shins, so you know she was freezing her ass off. I'm amazed she didn't loose one of her slippers. She was shrieking like a banshee at the dog. He didn't care. He was having too much fun! I don't think my brother was having much fun. Finally, the dog goofed and dropped the scarf. My mother lunged and got the free end of the scarf and pulled my brother to her. Game over.

My brother was bright red, snotty and sobbing hysterically and somehow that just made me laugh harder when they both came shivering back into the house. I thought I was going to give myself a hernia from laughing so hard. He blubbered at me; "It's nuh nuh nuh not fuh fuh fuh funny Rebecca!"

Owie my stomach! I was doubled over laughing. I was such an evil sister.

At a little over one year of age, Ben was returned to his breeder. He was the size and weight of a grizzly bear. We didn't care if we got our money back. We were just relieved that demon dog was gone from our house.

Extra Credit: While he didn't walk into the slider, Ben DID walk right through the screen door. With the slider, he would press his nose to the glass and slide his face and chin from side to side like a windshield wiper. He left thick coatings of dog drool behind. Soooo gross.

P.S. My brother was not injured in any way. His scarf was tied in a way that kept it from getting too tight around his neck. Plus he was pulled around the yard on his belly, most of the time, so the pressure was on the back of his neck/head. Regardless...the little shin-kicking booger mostly deserved it. Mostly. ;-)


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