I've been writing nonstop for grad school. This weekend I'm totally caught up and relaxing and I find myself dying to write down this story. You all have my permission to tell me my future carpal tunnel syndrome is my own fault.
We have this annoying and lovable dog named Roxie. She's getting older, and she often needs to go out in the middle of the night. At least that's what Trey tells me because I never hear her when I'm sleeping. (Side note: I'm not good at going to sleep, but once I'm sleeping I am VERY good at staying that way.)
Two nights ago, Roxie needed to go out. Trey let her out the back door and then went to the bathroom. I heard the bathroom door close and then thought to myself how comfy my bed is and how awesome sleep is and my heart was happy and I continued my slumber.
Then, out of nowhere, Roxie started screaming from outside. Not barking. Now howling. Screaming. It was such a terrible sound that I was immediately convinced she had been bitten by a snake. I jumped from the bed and ran to the backdoor, arriving about the same time as Trey.
This is what happened in my head:
"She's been bitten by a snake. We have to help her, but we can't get bitten, too. How do you get a dog from a snake in the dark? If Trey gets bitten I'll have to drive him to the hospital. I'll have to wake up the boys and tell them and it will probably freak them out. If it bites him on his hand it could turn black and fall off and he would be in the hospital for a long time. That would be terrible. Do I sacrifice my dog to save my husband's hand?"
This is what came out of my mouth:
"Don't go out there!"
But he did go out there. He stood outside the door and called the dog as I stood in the open doorway. We heard Roxie's little feet scurrying toward us. We saw her, and in the next instant her pursuer appeared.
A giant mutant attack possum.
Everything froze. The possum froze. Roxie froze. Trey froze. My eyes locked with his.
I slammed the door shut.
Here's what happened in my head:
"It's a possum! Where's a gun? That thing is bigger than Roxie! I wonder if it's rabid? Where's a gun? We should keep a pellet gun by the back door. That would at least scare it away. If we shot it with a real gun then Castlegate would go crazy because of gunshots in the neighborhood. The cops would probably come which would wake up the boys and freak them out. Look at it! It's enormous! That thing absolutely cannot get in my house. How would we get a possum out of the house?"
What did not happen in my head:
"I just locked Trey out of the house with our dog and a mutant rabid possum at 2:00 in the morning."
I'm not sure what happened next. I do know that Trey and Roxie scooted inside through a tiny crack in the door that I opened for them. He turned on the light and checked her for injuries. We were convinced she had been brutally attacked because of the dog-screams. She was not only fine, but she sauntered back into our room to her bed and immediately was fast asleep like nothing. even. happened.
So we went to bed. I don't think I've been in the backyard since then. I wonder if the scary rodent lives in our bushes or was just here for a visit. How does one rid their suburban back patio of giant mutant possums?
Here's what we learned:
1) I have full confidence in Trey's ability to fend off rabid possums in the middle of the night. That must be why I locked him out. Self-preservation had nothing to do with it. I'm certain.
2) My brain works really fast at 2:00 in the morning.
3) Santa should bring the Hickman III's a pellet gun this year.
