Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Making Up For It, Part 3 (Or How Not to Love Your Neighbor on Christmas Eve)

Be sure to read the first and the second parts.

Where were we? Oh yes, the report of a shotgun...

...And the dog, feathers in his mouth, dropped.

(well, actually he flipped, then landed in a firm drop.)

Along with the immediate feeling of protecting and saving (what was left of) my hens, several thoughts collided in my head, before the echo of the shot had even returned. Wow, that was loud!... Oh NO, who's dog did I just *kill*?!?...Wow, that bump on my cheek; THIS is the gun I was to afraid to practice with when Hubby was teaching me to use his guns!

I was stunned, and shaking from the adrenaline, the cold, the fact I'd just used a firearm while in my slippers. (you might be a redneck if...) The dog didn't even twitch, and I began coughing and scrambling - I need to call Hubby. He needs to come home NOW, and bury this dog, before someone comes looking for their pet. Where is the phone? In the sewing room, that's right.

I took the 8 steps to the back door, beelined for the stairs, and called him. Between choking breaths, my raspy voice said, "You need to come home and bury someone's dog. Please, now!" He thought I'd said he needed to bury OUR dog, and that I'd finally come to the end of my rope with her. :) I explained, and he said he would pay for his purchases and head home directly. There was some discussion of how many shots it took (I only had one bullet. Shell. Whatever), what size the shot was (I don't know. It was on your dresser. It fit in the gun.), did I eject the shell (huh?), where I hit him (I'm not going back out there, YOU come check!). It took him a long time to get home, or so it seemed to me. I emerged from the sewing room, trying to steady my wimpy self, and found the kids by the front door putting on their coats and boots, ready to check things out. "You are NOT leaving this house! You just stay put until daddy gets home."

I sat down on the stairs, PRAYING he would get there before I had to face whomever might actually value the wicked beast, and tried to relax. To my chagrin, the kids all headed for the dining room window, which offers the best view of the backyard... and also a fairly close view of the evidence.

"Mom!" Big Sister yelled. "You killed BUSTER!"

To be continued..

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