“BARK!
BARK! BARK! BARK!
BARK!” That’s the sound I heard at
2:11 in the morning. I was suddenly awakened
from my recurring dream. (You know, the
one where I’m falling from the sky in my underwear with a parachute that
refuses to open. But that’s not
important right now. That therapy
session will have to be another day.) The
truth is, I about leaped through the ceiling when the barking started. I’m not even sure why I mention this, but
readers should know that I didn’t scream when I woke up. Definitely not! And by the way, even if I did … nobody would
hear my screams above the incessant, loud barking coming from inside the house.
“BARK!
BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK!” Our dog, Duchess, continued sounding the
alarm that there was a security breach at the Monroe compound. This was not a, “That’s right, Master Kev,
Timmy fell in the well again” kind of bark,
It was not even a, “Wake up Master Kev, there’s a bus load of orphans perilously
teetering on a bridge and innocent children are facing imminent death.” kind of
bark. No, this particular bark was
decidedly different. It was clearly a “GET
YOUR &%*% DOWN HERE ‘CAUSE I CAN’T HOLD BACK THIS THREAT MUCH LONGER” kind
of bark. Yeah, that kind!
“BARK!
BARK! BARK! BARK!
BARK!” The pattern continued. It was still 2:11 am.
I was alone. The
barking was coming from downstairs. I
was upstairs … all alone … yep, it was just me.
Carrie, my wife, was out of town visiting our twenty-something year old
kids in Idaho for a few days. I know, I
was thinking the same thing you are, but Carrie couldn’t save me this time.
It was still 2:11am, the dog was still barking
non-stop, and an all-out heart-pounding, panic situation was still taking over. My mind was racing. I just knew that, most likely, there was some
kind of home invasion in progress. The
compound was under attack.
What gang violence was awaiting me? Was it Ninjas? Street thugs?
How many of them were there? Was
I surrounded? And did those intruders
know that I bruise easily and do not appreciate getting hit in the face
repeatedly. I’d be sure to let ‘em all
know during our initial meeting and conversation. Perhaps I could offer to do their taxes in
return for something like … oh, I don’t know … MY LIFE! That seems fair. Maybe it’d somehow be possible for them to push
me out of a plane in my underwear strapped to a malfunctioning parachute. I think I’d prefer that familiar freefall descent
instead of getting snuffed out in my own home by several angry, tattooed gang
members. Besides, I hear blood stains
are difficult to remove from carpet.
BARK!
BARK! BARK! BARK!
BARK!” The pattern continued. It was still 2:11 am.
My hesitation and mind wrestling was over. Knowing that sending my son downstairs to
assess the situation was not an option, I realized that it was up to me. I knew my only choice was to run into harm’s
way to protect my homeland. Years of
watching Chuck Norris movies only helped my confidence in this dire situation. I suddenly had steely resolve and possessed
no fear. Invasion? Not in my house! I’ll show them an invasion. I further reasoned, if this is how it ends,
so be it!
At that moment, the hunted became the hunter.
“BARK!
BARK! BARK! BARK!
BARK!” The pattern continued. It was now 2:12 am.
The slightly overweight, middle aged accountant made
sure he had his weapons with him before heading downstairs … that’s right, I
had both guns … my left arm and my right arm. My whole body was a weapon. I left my favorite bunny slippers at my
bedside. My adrenalin was pumping. I was shirtless, barefoot, and … um … (insert
awkward moment) Ok, never mind what I was wearing. I beat my hairy chest with both fists and
bellowed out my war call … the airwaves were soon filled with a famous quote
from the Sioux leader Crazy Horse, “HOKA-HEY!”
(Loosely meaning: “Today is a
good day to die!”)
“BARK!
BARK! BARK! BARK!
BARK!” The pattern continued. It was now 2:13 am.
Moving toward the sound of constant barking, I
hustled to the bottom of the stairs. Darkness
was everywhere. I managed to regain
composure a la Navy Seal style and turned on the back deck porch light. With my fists clutched and posing a
formidable Karate stance, I saw it. It
was a mere three feet away. And the
furry mass of scary-ness saw me. We
locked eyes … frozen in time with each knowing a battle was eminent. Only a double pane door window separated me from
that terrorizing raccoon that was roughly the size of a large grizzly bear .. perhaps
larger, but definitely more threatening than one of those wimpy grizzly bears.
Wait, what was happening? Was it running away? What about our epic battle? Evidently, the Godzilla-like raccoon wanted
nothing to do with my chiseled, hairy chested 49 year old body. He quickly scurried off ... and it was over. Done. Finished. Clearly, it was afraid of my heroic and
exceedingly brave accountant-ness.
The barking subsided. I relaxed my Karate stance and took a deep
breath. I was alive. There was little doubt in my mind that this exhilarating
experience contained all the makings of a future two hour, edge of your seat
movie deal. And if that happens, I plan
on portraying the lead role as myself ... shirtless of course.
It was now 2:16am.
A bowl of ice cream to celebrate the overwhelming victory would soon be
consumed beginning at around 2:18am.
The harrowing ordeal ended without a ‘coon skin cap
for the winter. I don’t even have a raccoon
animal head trophy to display on our living room wall. I do, however, have this blurry action shot
shown below. It’s evidence of a slightly
overweight raccoon running away from a slightly overweight, middle aged guy
that just so happens to be standing at a glass door wearing only his boxers. Yep, I sure scared that Big Foot imitator.
Seriously, can you imagine?
