Life: It’s where fiction comes from.

I was out on my back deck enjoying the crisp morning and a hot cup of coffee, discussing plot lines for a smut piece with my online writing group. All of a sudden, vicious snarling and pained screeches came from behind the garage.

I raced off the deck, knowing some poor cat or rabbit was about to be mauled by my Boxer and Lab-Whippet. Ok, eaten solely by the Boxer; my other dog is a gentle soul who only barks on the sidelines.

However, it wasn’t either of those creatures pinned under my Boxer, screeching and putting up a fight. But it didn’t matter what species the poor animal was, I just had to get it away from Boudreaux’s jaws.

“Boudreaux! No get off!” I screamed, yanking on his collar, his scruff. “Drop it!”

My two-year old daughter raced over screaming, with giant tears in her big blue eyes.

The animals separated for a split second which was all I needed. I grabbed the Boxer’s scruff with my left hand and the creature’s scruff in my right.

“Let go you little beast!” I yelled at the creature, trying to shake him off the dog.

Now I was in a dilemma. The brazen animal had its small teeth clamped on Boudreaux’s shoulder and wasn’t going to let go first.

Who’s scruff do I let go of, the dog’s or the creatures?

I released  Boudreaux and flicked the little beast right on his black nose… hard.

He yelped and unclenched his teeth. My arm shot straight up in the air–the loose skin on the back of his neck clutched in my fist–holding him as far away from canine jaws as I could get him. He hissed and panted but looked at me with terrified gratitude in his beady little eyes. I turned him around, looking for any signs of severe trauma.

Taking this little guy–who simply wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time in search of food–to the vet for a mercy euthanasia was not on my to-do list.

No blood. Nothing seemed broken. Still seemed alert and responsive but had the good sense not to struggle against his savior-

Boudreaux launched from his haunches, grabbing the end of the creatures fluffy tail.

Without hesitation, I tossed the little guy over the privacy fence and yanked the Boxer away–miraculously not finding a single wound on him.

It hurt my soul to throw a small animal like that but I couldn’t let him get eaten.

Besides… raccoons are like cats, they nearly always land on their feet.


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