Raccoon Poop ReMix

It seems that my dog Mooch has created a new birthday ritual for me. March 19th is my day to lay around in bed, read a good book, enjoy the sunshine, and basically, do nothing. Mooch had other plans. Just one hour before my birthday-cake-eating-festival-guests were to arrive, Mooch decided to find the biggest stash of raccoon poop she could, and…you guessed it…roll in it. Now, upon this momentous event, there were children playing in the streets, men were traipsing through the woods behind my home, a chainsaw was happily buzzing away, and birds were flitting through the yard, chasing beautiful butterflies through the wild flowers aka weeds. This idyllic neighborhood scene was shattered by the sound of a voice straight from hell shrieking at decibles beyond dog and human hearing. Despite this ear-shattering roar coming from…well…me, Mooch’s nose dipped down, her right shoulder dropped, and plop!!! Into the raccoon poop.

The initial shriek that came out of me was nothing compared to the bellow of outrage, curse words I’d never before spoken, and hyena-like screaming that followed. The chainsaw stopped. I heard the sound of men crashing through the underbrush in the woods behind my house, as they ran away from whatever alien/animal/demon was making the godawful sound. One glance around the yard and I realized all the birds and butterflies were gone, vanished in a flash.

Mooch seemed completely deaf to the supernatural wailings and vituperative demands that she STOP UPON PAIN OF DEATH!!! Instead, she casually got up, made three turns, and plopped down on her other side, just so that she could cover herself completely in raccoon poop. Clearly she wanted to assure herself that no patch of fur was missed.

My brain went into some sort of rage seizure and my larynx pushed itself beyond superhuman abilities as another shriek split the sky, causing the pine trees around me to shiver and drop needles and pollen. Powdered with this fine yellow dust, I ran toward my dog. I’m pretty sure my eye teeth had sharpened and lengthened. My husband had disappeared into the house. For a moment, I thought I heard our car crank over, but I wasn’t sure. I had been deafened by my own roar.

Throat burning with pain, I rushed my dog, who was smiling as she rolled around in raccoon poop. At some point, her hearing returned and she realized that some mad animal was rushing toward her, saliva dripping from its fangs, and demonic sounds coming from its throat. She hopped up and looked at me like, “What?”

My brain shimmied into overdrive and the rage built another wall of rage around the initial wall of rage. The neighborhood was eerily silent. It was just me…and the dog. I stopped in the middle of the yard. Mooch stood frozen over the raccoon poop. Her beautiful white coat had gone from silky clean to poop brown, and she now smelled like a cow farm. For a long time we stood staring at one another, sides heaving, teeth bared…well, mine were, anyway. And then I launched myself into action. Livid did not begin to describe what I was feeling as I ran inside, donned gloves, grabbed shampoo, towels, and raced for the door, trying to get to the garden hose before Mooch arrived on the porch. Too late. Mooch stood at the glass door. Hammy stood three feet behind her. Apparently, Hammy the Squirrel and Mooch, who was now my husband’s dog not mine, were the only two living creatures who were impervious to my bellowing roars. Hammy stood on her hind feet, hoping for a peanut. Mooch whined to get in the house.

“Never!” I screamed. “I will leave you out there to rot for eternity, you hear me, dog!”

Mooch cocked her head to one side. Her expressive face told me what she was thinking. “Oh, come on, ma! Let me in.”

I opened the door and aimed the barrel of the shampoo bottle at her. “Back up, hound, or I fire!”

Mooch backed up two paces. Hammy backed up two paces, but still remained upright, hoping for a peanut.

I dodged left. Mooch moved with me. I dodged right. Mooch moved with me. With alot of fancy footwork, I managed to get past her without her transferring raccoon poop to my clean pants, and lunged for the hose. Mooch was blasted with soap and water before she knew what hit her.

An hour later, my guests arrived and remarked on how clean the dog was, and how cute she was. “Oh, Moochie Poochie Poochie,” they crooned. “Such a good girl.”

I hunkered in a corner and snarled occasionally as I ate my birthday cake with my fingers. Rabbit tossed me a napkin and gave me furtive, worried glances now and then. I stared back at him, wondering if my teeth had returned to normal yet. I was pretty sure my eyes were still red and the horns that had sprouted on my head were still there. I grunted and continued eating my cake while the guests mingled and crooned over the dog.

Twenty-four hours later, the neighborhood is still eerily quiet. I casually wonder if the UFO hunters will come along and hunt down the bizarre creature reportedly roaming the neighborhood. An occasional snort could still be heard coming from somewhere deep inside my throat, and Rabbit had filed my teeth back down to a more human-looking appearance.

“Do you realize she did this last year on my birthday? Huh? Well, do ya, punk?” I muttered.

Rabbit took my shoulders gently in either hand and stared deep into my eyes. “Hun, is that you in there? Are you coming back now?”

Copyright 2009 C. D. Blizzard
http://www.cdblizzard.com
PROFILE, the novel by C. D. Blizzard: The mother of all thrillers.