I was getting ready to leave for my second class of the day, with nothing left to do other than bring Max in from the yard. The rain had started a moment earlier, so I figured he would be on the porch ready to come in. Instead, when I looked out the window, I saw him at the far end of the yard eating a rabbit he had just killed.
I knew I was going to have to deal with this sooner or later. He has caught rabbits twice before; fortunately for me, Scott was around to deal with both of those. Today I was on my own. It was time to go, Max was chowing down on a carcass in the backyard, and I had to do something. Before I continue, I need to make the disclaimer that I would not advise tangling with a dog and its prey – even a fourteen pound dachshund – unless you really know what you’re doing. I do know what I’m doing, which does NOT mean that I was able to safely and easily remove a dead rabbit* from my dog’s jaws. It just means that I wasn’t surprised when my own dog bit the freaking crap out of my hand several times. The short version of the story is that after finding a way to distract Max, I simultaneously held onto him, kept food in front of him, and wriggled out of my sweatshirt so I could wrap it around him and shove his ass back across the yard to the house. In the rain. Ten minutes after I needed to leave to, you know, help people find peace, unwind, detox and de-stress, and all of that.
My right hand is a little lumpy and swollen, but I was still able to teach two more classes, although bringing in the big heavy sign at Midtown was sort of a challenge. I also got quite a lesson in dog psychology. After a kill – the very thing that Max was bred to do – he is fucking BONKERS. Running in circles, throwing himself into, onto, and over furniture, just beside himself with utmost, pure crazy dog joy. It is actually pretty entertaining, and a sufficient distraction from the ache in my hand.
This is not a good dog.
*I saw rabbit organs. Gross.
