Dogfight

The fight started over a chihuahua being walked on the other side of the fence and in a matter of seconds had devolved to a full scale blitzkrieg. The work dogs couldn't get to the chihuahua so they turned on each other and the cur dog went down in a bloody heap with the old pit fastened onto his muzzle like a vise and the small pit mix snarling at his hindquarters and keeping him pinned. Blood and tissue were flying, the cur dog was screaming and everything I knew about breaking up a dogfight went clean out of my head. I turned the hose on them and when that didn't work, grabbed the nearest thing to a weapon I could find - a shovel - and began hammering them with it until I could catch hold of the old pit's collar and separate them. The smaller pit mix snarled and lunged at me and I swung the shovel, connected with his face and sent him sprawling into the dirt. When Michael finally got there, I was standing over him with the shovel ready to swing a second time. I was so angry I was hoping I'd broken his jaw.

We patched up the cur dog, washing off the blood, cleaning his wounds and checking for broken bones. A week later he had surgery for a build up of blood in one ear and we sent the small pit mix to Michael's family for a few days to give the cur dog a chance to heal. The house was immediately quieter and considerably less chaotic and I was of the opinion that we should make it a permanent move but Michael missed the wretched little sob and made plans to bring him home after Thanksgiving. It was to be a short lived peace.

It was the second time in my entire life I raised my hand in anger to an animal.

I'm considering investing in a taser.