How Much Chicken Would A Dachshund Chuck, If A Dachshund Could Chuck Chicken?

OK. So here’s the deal…This past weekend my husband and I were outside working in the front yard, trying to nab that ever-elusive yard of the month trophy. (Don’t get me started on the back yard, as I’m sure even the Viet-Cong couldn’t find their way out of that horrific mess. Yes, I AM serious.) While we were doing hand-to-hand combat with the thistles and what I’m quite sure are some species of SUPER nettles, we became the victims of a sneak attack by a pack of wild dogs.

Well, all right, it was one dog…and it was…a dachshund. The perpetrator made his way along the perimeter unseen (WHAT?! I told you I was doing yard work! So I hadn’t trimmed yet, OK?!) and launched a surprise attack. Actually Craig had to stop mowing because the dog was darting around the lawn. I had seen the dog the afternoon before roaming around on the church lawn next to us, and was hoping someone hadn’t dumped it. We called to the little feller’ and he high-tailed it back under the fence about 80 miles and hour. (Who knew dachshunds were so speedy?)

Later that night he was back snooping around like he was starving. So I did what any good dog mom would do. I broke out the broasted chicken I had gotten to give one of our dogs his medicine (let, me tell you, he was none too happy about me sharing) and laid a trail along the driveway and left a little pile next to a dish of water up by the house.

The next day we continued to catch glimpses of him darting back and forth under the fence as we continued our battle with the brush (and for anyone who happened to drive by, my sincerest apologies. I know I am NOT tank-top material, but it was hot outside, and I wanted to get some sun.)

Having a late dinner that night, my husband stepped out into the garage with his BBQ tongs, and nearly had a coronary. (Remind me to tell you about the raccoon and my husband’s Chevy Chase impersonation later.) The dog was right outside the kitchen door, and since it was kind of dark, my husband simply knew there was something furry in close proximity. (Having seen a badger in our front yard, I can hardly blame him.) Anyway, my husband shouted, the dog bolted, and we proceeded to grill some lovely steaks.

As we were sitting on the front patio enjoying our newly manicured lawn and a cold beverage (Corona) while the red meat sizzled, the dog appeared at our patio step. We made no sudden moves and I quietly tried to coax what we could now see was a collarless silky-haired dachshund up onto the porch. (Apparently it doesn’t appreciate fine Mexican beer. His/her loss.)

By now, we have decided the dog is a stray, and my husband has dubbed it ‘Pork Chop.’ I put out food and water for the little dear, and my husband has begun to fantasize about watching the Super Bowl with ‘Pork Chop,’ who he is certain won’t be as annoying to him as our other two dogs. (He smote my furry children and shall be dealt with severely later. Oh yes, he WILL pay.)

The next morning the food is gone, and we are entering “Pork Chop Watch” day four. We catch glimpses of him/her throughout the day, and any, and all attempts to call the little darling (can you tell my teeth are now gritted) are for naught. Our boys, who wouldn’t say grace at Christmas if you withheld their gifts, are now openly praying for little ‘Pork Chop.’ (Yes, I AM rolling my eyes, thank you very much!) Even one of the neighbor boys stops by on his bike looking for the dog. Apparently he has been at EVERYONE’S house, and ‘Pork Chop’ may be an appropriate moniker sooner, rather than later.

My oldest son and I leave to run an errand that evening as a tremendous lightning storm is blazing on the horizon. As we return home, my son says, “I think we should pray for Pork Chop. This storm looks bad, and he’s soooo little.” So as we are approaching our driveway, we pray, out loud, for the dog. We turn into the driveway, and come to a screeching halt because THERE, in the middle of our driveway, is doot doot doooooo Pork Chop. He runs all the way up the driveway (ALL 400 FEET) in front of my SUV and then darts off into the dark and stormy night. (Yes, I went there and used the dark and stormy night line, and YES, I know I am ruining the planet, but with this economy, who can afford a new car?!)

Now the boys are watching intently out the window as the lightning flashes and thunder crashes, praying for the dog…AGAIN. Our youngest says he sees him, and begs me to put food out in the garage. By now, I have decided to leave a trail of food leading into my office, adjacent to the garage. (I am only willing to play chase me, chase me for so long. It is time for catchy, catchy.) Pork Chop is spotted heading up the driveway, and has followed the trail of food into the garage. I have now stationed myself so that I am peering through a crack in the door, and can jump out and close the door to my office. Pork Chop is juuuuust edging over the threshold into my office, when my husband, oblivious to the dog trapping taking place in the next room, yells about Legos being strewn all over the living room. The dog bolts, and I…am done.

I have decided there will be no more broasted chicken and bowls of water for this little moocher, who has probably discovered the neighbors are all suckers and will feed him tasty tidbits instead of the nasty dry crap that is probably waiting for him at home in some Pottery Barn dog dish. I have steeled myself against this little ankle biter…end of story.

The next morning our yard appears to be Pork Chop free. I head into the shop (JUNCK), and soon after arriving, my phone rings. It’s my oldest son calling to tell me Pork Chop is in our back yard, INSIDE the fence. With a heavy sigh, I tell him if he can catch him more power to him, and make a mental note to tell my husband if we ever do manage to snag the little devil, his name is going to be Houdini.