Doggone Shame

Stepping away from summer madness and all that is going on here, I have to tell you guys about my sister in-law’s adventure. She called at midnight. And because I’d talked to her earlier in the day and invited her and her family over for a barbeque, I assumed she was calling to say they wouldn’t be able to make it. I’m really glad I didn’t turn the phone ringer off as my instincts instructed.

Deb was at her in-laws’ house. From the living room window, she and her husband, Scott saw a woman and her dog being attacked by a pitbull. They ran, reacting without thinking of their own safety.

I expect that from Deb, not from Scott. He’s your typical white collared guy, never gets his hands dirty who you’d imagine staring in awe as the drama unfolded.

The two ran out of the house, unarmed and barefoot. Scott jumped on the pitbull’s back, Deb pried the jaws of the beast off of the lady’s arm. Covered in a stranger’s blood, Deb brought the lady and her small dog to safety behind a parked car. She hovered over their bodies like a shield.

Scott was on the street, straddling the dog, punching it, kicking it, doing everything in his power to make it stop trying to attack him too. His feet, hands and knees stung as the concrete shredded them while he wrestled the dog.

Deb was yelling for someone to bring water so she could clean the woman’s wounds. An 85-year-old woman in a housecoat and slippers slowly trotted across the street with a small cup of ice water. Deb said it was the size of a Dixie Cup.

The lady went on to say how thirsty Deb must be after fighting with that animal, which was by far the highlight of Deb’s day. She needed water to clean the woman’s wounds and all she had was a shot glass of ice water.

With a crowd of at least 30 people gathered, only one man stepped in to help hold the dog down, and one tiny 85-years-young woman stepped forward to help.

The woman and her small dog were attacked by the pitbull who jumped through a screened window, while his owners were out. Thankfully the second pitbull the guy owns didn’t follow his brother. The woman’s wounds were superficial enough for her to refuse medical treatment. She was more concerned about getting her dog that also received a couple of bites, to a vet.

As if all of that wasn’t crazy enough, when animal control, the ambulance and police arrived, Deb and her husband went back into Scott’s parent’s house.

While all of that was going on, John, Scott’s dad, wasn’t home. He was at Popeye’s Chicken fetching their dinner. He arrived just in time to see emergency vehicles outside, and his son and daughter in-law inside, cleaning blood and gravel off of themselves. He gave them a curious look but continued on toward the kitchen without uttering a word.

Without stopping for a moment to check on her son and daughter in-law, or even ask what happened, Scott’s mom, Lauren, said as she peered into the bucket of chicken, “Damn it John. I told you to get 14 pieces. And where’s the side of gravy?”

John left the house to go get the things he forgot, still not saying anything to anyone. The kids, Scott and Deb were all picking gravel and wiping wounds.

Lauren sat at the head of the long set dining table, alone and said, “Isn’t anyone going to eat? I don’t know why I sent John back out to get more food if you aren’t going to eat what is right here.”

I don’t know if the situation is funny because I know how John and Lauren are or if it’s because I could visualize the entire scene as Deb told me over the phone, but I was highly amused. It’s like the stuff that great sitcoms are made of.

After 20 minutes of Lauren and Jack bashing, I asked in a serious tone, “You are still coming tomorrow right, Deb? I mean, I bought all of this food…”