Smokey Mountain Breakdown

Okay, it's not like I didn't see it coming.

It’s been a hugely gray day, today. Actually we’ve been having an entire week of gray. I don’t really mind days like this but it should at least have the decency to actually rain. A nice day to curl up by the fire and do not much. Though, since Wee Willy Wood Boy cheated me this last go round...I'm fast running out of wood for my wood stove. So...the search is on for another wood supplier.

Nothing much going on so I stuck Father Ted (Drink! Feck! Girls!) in the DVD player and plotted more chapters in the novel. Only 9 more chapters to plot…then I can write.

Anyway, the big excitement was that Max finally snapped. After over a week of non-stop goose torture, it was time for a smack down.

Let me tell you about Max. This is Max. Adorable, isn’t he?



When Max first came into rescue, there was no shortage of homes for him to go to. I should have known something was wrong when I saw the amazed look on the faces of the folks handing him over to me as he trotted quite happily beside me and jumped in the jeep. I’m like that with cockers. I’m the cocker whisperer.

Anyway, when I got Max home, it wasn’t long before I realized something was really wrong with him, temperamentally. I pissed off I don’t know how many people refusing to place him. One lady got really, really mad at me, but she had a gang of shih tzus and I’m pretty sure they would be shih tzu tartar by now had Maxie gone there. Max would be dead...put to sleep.

When he gets upset, he can’t calm himself down and he goes ballistic. In short, he becomes “Mr. Spike”. He’s still up for adoption and I still hope that the right lady dog psychologist is going to come along and it’s going to be a perfect match. Because he really is a lover boy when he’s in his Dr. Max stage…about 99 percent of the time. But that 1 percent means I can't let him go to just anybody. It wouldn't be ethical.

So, today, the geese, emboldened by the success of the goose para sail adventure, went after Max in a big way. My sweet boy snapped and all of a sudden, I had Mr. Spike out there in the yard with the goose by the neck doing that savage shaking thing. And I didn’t have my spray bottle of ammonia water. (Yeah…we already tried vinegar...straight, no less…don’t work.)

So, I’m standing in the yard saying calmly but firmly, “Max. Max. That’s enough, Max. It’s learned its lesson. Max. Stop now, Max.”

And, amazingly, he stopped. Very, very upset little dog. His sides are heaving and he still can’t seem to get the adrenaline under control. His eyes are rolling and wide. I venture a pet on his back and call him into the house. He’s grateful to go in and still so very upset. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s not like he’s angry…it’s like a toddler that can’t stop crying or having a tantrum.

You know that scene in “A Christmas Story” where the kid beats the crap out of the red-headed bully? That’s what Max does when he’s upset. And you have to handle the situation pretty much like the Mom did in that movie.

The other amazing thing is… that damn goose was just fine. There was no maniacal goose laughter though. I’m hoping they’ve learned their lesson and will resist any more Darwinian urges to attack Max. 'Cause, I got a feeling he's not going to take any more goose crap from those two.