Tag Archives: writing

You guys wanna hear a story? It’s a doozy. 

Last Tuesday was the last day of school. I had organized an after school party at a nearby park for all our friends. Water guns, popsicles, pickle flavored Doritos (which are somehow both disgusting and amazing). As I’m walking to pick up my kids from school, a gigantic dog, more moose than canine, suddenly comes barreling toward me. Followed by two very frantic women screaming in panic. 

The small part of my brain that permanently houses the meme of Ralphie from The Simpsons chuckling “I’m in danger” was immediately activated. 

I freeze. The moose dog takes this as a sign that he should attack and sink his gigantic shark teeth as deeply into my calf as he can. 

I feel it. I know it’s happening. I think I yelled. But mostly my brain just short circuited. We’re talking crucial parts just WHOOSH, in flames and melting. 

The dog is still running around me, I’m pacing up and down in a weird crouch like position with my fists awkwardly up, my brain unable to decide between fight, flight, or freeze so what the hell, let’s do all three. 

Eventually the dog runs off. The anemic logical part of my brain rustles up the energy to yell to one of the owners “is he vaccinated?” But she was too busy chasing down her beloved Cujo as he chased some nearby teenagers. 

So I do the most common sense thing I can think of. I text all the parents on the after school party thread “I just got bit by a German sheep.” 

And then nothing else. No context. No details. No correcting “sheep” to “Shepherd.” Everyone is suitably confused. 

I end up getting some first aid supplies from the nearby learning center. The workers are encouraging me to call animal control as I’m mopping up my blood. Which reminds my beleaguered brain I should text the parents again. 

So in response to all their frantic questions and confusion, I write “it’s pretty bad.”

And that’s it. 

Because now my brain is too busy contemplating how to call animal control, which seems exceedingly complicated at the moment. And do I have rabies? And why is medical tape so hard to figure out? 

And omg I have to pickup my kids. So I text the parents again “can someone grab my kids?” as I’m walking up to the school to grab my kids. All I can tell you is that it made sense at the time. 

On the way, I run into the second owner. She’s very apologetic and I am very much a people pleaser so I’m comforting her as I actively bleed all over our shoes. Suddenly I blurt out “SHOTS,” because my brain remembers we do not want to die of rabies. 

She pulls up his vaccine record on her phone, so I take a photo of her phone because putting a new contact into MY phone seems like a very complex math problem at this point. 

My brain, proud of itself for not letting us die, decides to work for a hot minute more and casually throws out “500 kids are about to be released from school, so, I don’t know, maybe warn someone?”

Son of a…so I immediately text “dog still loose, warn everyone.” 

Shortly after I show up to school in all my bloody glory, telling kids I pass to “beware of the loose dog.” My daughter screams when she sees my leg and my son bursts into tears. “Was this a bad idea?” I ask my brain. But it doesn’t answer because it’s gone full blue screen of death. 

I tell my kids to stay with the other parents and hand my car keys to my friend. “I’m parked by the park, the party supplies are in the trunk,” I tell her. (Or possibly yell at her, my volume control completely out of hand). Because without my brain, keeping the party on while a murderous dog attacks citizens is clearly the priority. 

And then I head back to the scene of the crime. To talk to animal control. Which I never called. And with the dog still ON THE GODDAMN LOOSE. 

On my way, I pass by some third graders from my daughter’s class. There are no adults around. The mom part of my brain activates and I escort them to their nearby houses. 

Then I turn back around to…Wait, what was I doing? Right, I should go to the hospital. Where are my car keys? 

It’s then I see police lights in the distance. Because someone whose brain didn’t pack it up and head for the wilds DID call the cops. I talk to them, pretending with all my might I was a functioning human being. 

It was going fairly well until I was asked if I wanted an ambulance. Which is when the ‘ol brain just started giggling because HOO BOY this just became real. Suddenly I can feel the pain the adrenaline kept at bay. So in a panic, I say sure but then follow that up with “is it ok if I refuse it?” Because the financial part of my brain kicked in 3 seconds too late with “we cannot afford that.” 

Luckily I was saved by another mom friend, who was also attacked by the dog but thankfully not bitten. She told the officers she would take me to urgent care. 

Three hours later, after an X-ray and an aggressive cleansing that felt like someone poured lava into the giant holes in my legs, I was patched up and we finally made it back to the party, which was winding down. 

It was then I managed to look through all the messages and realized that while I was sending unhelpful, cryptic texts, my friends had managed to piece together what was happening in the neighborhood, keep everyone informed of this wildly unfolding story, kept most of the students at school until the dog was caught, took care of and comforted my kids, picked up the pizza I was supposed to pick up, and set up the party. Which was a huge hit. 

And so, the moral of this story is, may you all find a community as badass as mine. I cannot thank them enough.  

And do not have a dog if you can’t control it.

And seriously, try pickle flavored Doritos. The taste will haunt you.