Oh my God, you guys are funnier than shit! I loved all of your renditions of what happened with Frito. Thanks to those of you who tried to guess the ending. Many of you guessed bits and pieces. Lots of you made me laugh my ass off but none of you actually won the grand prize, which had yet to be determined. If you are new to Home Fires, welcome. Please read yesterday's post below and checkout the comments they are great. The following is part two.Frito Bandito II
Jim left us standing there with the growling pitbull. He had to leave so he wouldn't be late for work.
Mr. Lane and I thought it best to wait it out while working on a second plan. We hoped Frito would calm down after he ate all of his food.
I called our vet asking for some doggie downers.
"Lois, I can't. He isn't my patient. If he has a weak heart, it could kill him. Plus, if he is as aggressive as you say he is, unfortunately, there's nothing we can do short of putting him down."
"Dr. Mac, please?"
"What about a muzzle?"
"If he is in a kennel and won't let you get within four feet, how are you going to get it on him?"
"Good point. So what do you think we should do?"
"I think you should call animal control. He needs to be put down."
I got off of the phone and told Mr. Lane what the vet said.
"Lois, we can't just put him down."
"I think you need to tell Jim to call his dad. He should get the dog himself then. This thing is too dangerous."
"Let's give him a little more time to calm down. He might be perfectly fine in my truck."
"And he might shred your Snausages to smithereens. Do you really think he'll stay calm for two days? He is eventually going to have to eat again. Would Nick even want this dog as aggressive as he is?"
"Baby, I know as much as you know."
Mr. Lane called Jim and told him he needed to call his father. When he called back, he said his father wanted to sell the dog, not keep him. We were pissed. Jim was pissed. All of the worrying and feeling sorry for Nick, only to find out he was hoping to get some cash out of Frito.
The Lanes, suckers on the block. Bit on the ass once again. Fell for another sob story. I swear we have "Sucker" stamped on our foreheads.
He hung up the phone and began thinking aloud. "Who the hell would buy a dog as angry as this one? What was Nick thinking? Gonna risk my fucking life for him to get some money! I'll pay the sonofabitch with my foot in his ass."
"He probably was headed for a dog fighting ring. I've seen that on Animal Planet. Honey, you aren't taking him, right?"
"No. Not after all of that. I feel like such a jackass for feeling bad for the dude."
"Yeah me too. So now what do we do with Frito?"
We were afraid to leave him alone in our yard because there are so many neighborhood kids who could have gotten hurt. We tried to move the kennel but Frito barked viciously at us. Mr. Lane hooked a tieback to the kennel and dragged the kennel into the shade so he wouldn't overheat.
I went inside to get some ice cubes for him to chew. I approached the kennel, talking baby talk the whole time. I got closer than four feet. Progress. I squatted down to his level, looked him in the eyes, leaned in to put an ice cube in the kennel and that mother fucker barked, scaring the shit out of me. I flipped out of my squatted position into a backward summersault of sorts.
I stood up, brushed myself off and said, "Don't make me piss on that kennel to claim my territory dog! I'm the alpha bitch here!"
Once I regained my composure, I slid the garden hose toward the kennel, hoping he would take a drink. He was panting like crazy and the ice cubes never made it to him. As the hose neared his kennel, he charged the door. I threw the hose into the air, water splashed all over me. I screamed like a girl and ran into the house. Mr. Lane laughed at me.
After much discussion, we decided Frito's fate. He was going to be reunited with his dad. I called animal control and explained the situation. They would come to get him and put him to sleep but would be charging us $200 to do so. I protested the cost and explained the situation, telling them Frito wasn't our dog. The fee stood.
I hung up the phone, went outside and broke the news to Mr. Lane. Frito was barking like crazy and still hadn't had his "Last Supper." Lane 1 came outside and said a man was banging on our sliding glass door in the kitchen. I told Mr. Lane to call Jim and let him know that if he wasn't taking the dog back, and his dad wasn't coming to get him, we came up with plan B.
I ran in to answer the door. It was a utility man. He said he needed to trim the trees at the back of our yard because they were hitting the power lines. He wanted to make sure the dog he heard was tied up. Out of frustration more than anything, I told him what was going on with the dog. The whole story. Poor guy. I let him know he was safe to do his work because the dog was in a kennel in the front yard and wouldn't be let out any time soon. Animal control said it would be a couple of hours before someone could come.
Jim agreed that the dog should be put down. He apologized profusely for wasting our time and said he would pay back the $200. He said he had no idea his dad was just going to sell the dog.
At noon (remember, this Frito fiasco began at 6 a.m.) the animal control officers pulled into my driveway. They asked us some questions and they got the whole story. They thought the office shouldn't have demanded payment from us either, but of course, they had a job to do. They needed to collect a check and a dog.
Frito was losing his mind. He knew his fate. Mr. Lane and I felt terrible, it wasn't the dog's fault.
The animal control officers were like Frick and Frack, clueless. Everything they tried was a strike out. They couldn't get Frito out or approach his kennel. They were as nervous and scared as Mr. Lane and I. Professionals? We stood for an hour watching the two morons talk through their plan. Frito was taking notes, growling and barking the whole time.
At 1:15 the utility guy was pounding on the glass door again. Lane 1 came to get me. He was on the phone with his brother. He also fell for the sob story and wanted to do something. He called his brother to see if he could help us. He had pitbulls in the past.
I explained the officers were trying to get him into their truck and he was going to be put to sleep. His brother wanted to talk to me.
"Ma'am, if you act scared, he'll keep on charging and barking. You need to shout and let him know who is boss."
"Thank you for your advice but animal control is here and they can boss him all they like. Frankly, I'm scared of the dog."
"He probably senses that fear. So they are just taking him to put him down?"
"Unfortunately, yes. But there's really nothing else we can do. This dog is much too aggressive."
"Can I talk to the animal control officer?"
"Ummm, sure. Hang on."
I went outside, quickly explained who was on the phone and handed it to the officer.
"If we had a tranquilizer, this would be much easier. The office didn't let us know what kind of dog we were picking up and they never said how aggressive he is. No sir. I don't think so. How long? I suppose."
He handed the phone back to me and the guy asked me if he could have the dog.
"You really don't want this dog. He is mean as hell. He'd rather die of heatstroke than have an ice cube."
"I can be there in 20 minutes. Please at least let me see the dog before they take him to be put to sleep."
"At the rate these two guys are getting him into the truck, I'd say you have plenty of time."
By then, the utility guy, who reminded me of one of the Village People, had made friends with my kids. He was sitting at our kitchen table having a Diet Pepsi. Lane 2 is the little hostess with the mostess. She was talking his ear off, telling him about all of the animals that mysteriously find their way to our house. Lane 1 was telling him how disgusting he thought the opossum babies were. And, of course, told him all about the Crazy Opossum Lady.
I gave him his phone and told him his brother was on the way. He said his brother probably wants to keep the dog. He said he manages a junkyard and used to keep pitbulls as guard dogs. His last pitbull got hip dysplasia and had to be put down.
Macho Man went back to work and I went back outside to wait. When the man arrived, he walked up to the kennel and started talking to the dog. He was growling.
"Knock it off Frito! You want to go for a walk boy?"
The dog was growling and barking like crazy and this fucking guy was offering to take him on a stroll. Brave or stupid as can be, he reached his hand toward the kennel with a leash ready to hook onto his collar. The dog kept barking but wasn't charging or attempting to bite the guy.
Mr. Lane and I opted to go inside and watch from the front door. Yes, we are chicken shits. The animal control officers stood behind their truck in shock.
We watched in awe as this man eventually opened the kennel door and walked Frito around our yard. He squatted down, eye level with Frito and began petting him. Frito sat quietly.
The man, Leroy Brown, took Frito home.