My dog is what some might call a "vagine." I mean, when you think about it, one of the pragmatic uses for even having a dog is protection, right? But I bet if I asked my dog what her job is...she might respond "eating" or "sleeping" or "licking her ass, then my face."
These are not paid positions (and there are no more openings).
So a few weeks ago, when I was awoken by her growling and snorting in our bedroom, my first response was "Maggie...SHUT THE HELL UP! IT'S TWO AM!!!"
But the growling kept going...and she started to pace in the bed. The next thing I know, Tauni is shaking my arm and says "I think I hear someone in the kitchen."
Of course, my first instinct was to say "Tauni...SHUT THE HELL UP! IT'S TWO AM!!!" but I am more pragmatic than the dog...and I thought I better not. I did try to ignore her, but with the combination or growling and the incessant shaking, I eventually, slowly, begrudgingly woke up. And I heard it.
No...that couldn't be...no...A SOUND! And another sound. In fact...that sounds like...someone...NO...moving...rattling...NO F'IN WAY!
And my heart sank...because now...now it was my time to be "the man."
Being a man has a lot of perks in life. First of all...I can pee standing up OR sitting down. Really...I enjoy this choice. After a long day...sometimes, I am not embarrassed to admit, I sit to pee. Sue me. This makes me no less of a man. In fact, I think it makes me more of a man. Yes. A manly man I am for sitting to pee.
I also don't have to care about stuff...being a man and all. Some women assume men don't have feelings, but we do. It's just so little is actually expected of us...we can play it up! Centuries of men saying "I don't care" have built upon themselves in a form of ancient viral marketing...and now...when we choose to...we can pull out the "I don't have feelings" card almost at will. It's brilliant if you asked me!
But there are times it sucks to be a man! And I can tell you...hearing a sound in your kitchen in the middle of the night is DEFINITELY one of those times. What the Hell am I supposed to do at 2 AM with rustling...RUSTLING emanating in the room on the opposite side of my house? Ask my eighteen-pound-pussy-ass dog to protect us? Turn to my five-foot-nothing girlfriend?
No...it was time to be a man. So I did what any man would do...I picked up the closest blunt object within arm's reach of my bed and started to head for the kitchen....of course, this being me, the most violent instrument within arm's reach from MY bed...was a fucking hobby horse. Doesn't this look scary:
So, if you can imagine...I am tiptoeing down the hall way...hobby horse in hand...and on my way to beat the living shit of what I presumed to be a 7' tall monster waiting for me in the other room.
Here is an artist's rendition:
Luckily for me...on the way there, with my vicious dog cowering behind my every step, I realized the sound was nothing more than a raccoon that had gotten into the kitchen to eat Maggie's food through our open back door (now closed and locked every night). So...I started banging the hobby horse and clicking its ear. Why? So it would neigh and make some galloping sounds, or course! Worked like a charm...and whatever was eating my dog's food scurried away as brave little Maggie went ape shit...after it had gone.
And we all were safe and sound. Mark MANasse with his HOBBY HORSE...saved the day.
A fun little postscript:
Maggie has taken a big dump every night by the back door to try to cover up the smell of the raccoon who came in to eat her food. So that's been really fun. Way to show the raccoon who's boss, Maggie. You rock!