Home Invader

Well we had an exciting evening. I got home from work before Shawn, parked in the garage as normal, and then entered through the kitchen. Groceries in hand, I left the door to the garage open while I unloaded the bags and freed Brisket from the captivity known as her crate. God bless the inventor of the crate by the way. Even though it's the size of a small shed and denounces any opportunity to contribute as a design element, it has allowed us to keep our sanity. She sleeps in it at night AND stays in it during the day when we're at work. It's her home, her safe haven. A boxer left alone to roam is like Britney Spears unsupervised in a frappaccino factory - nothing good comes from it.

So I freed the beast and as usual, she busted out of her crate like a bull out of a rodeo gate -- spinning, jumping, and licking everything in sight. I was escorted by both dogs to the master bedroom where I changed clothes, unknowingly still leaving the back door wide open. Moments later, we walked back up the hall towards the den and all of a sudden, something flew by my face! Terrified AND shocked, I immediately screamed and ran to the back of the house. Thinking our 52-pound boxer would check it out, I was disappointed to see her leap onto the bed and let out a cry that would rival a newborn baby. Poor Halley was so confused, she just started pacing.

At this point, I was convinced we had a blood-sucking bat in our home. The fact that it was 6:30 and still sunny outside did nothing to deter this assumption. Therefore, I did what any normal 29-year-old woman would do - I coaxed Brisket down the hall and encouraged her to find whatever was flying around our house. This turned into me pushing her across our hardwood floors against her will while I shouted, "What is it Brisket Louise? Go find it!" Needless to say, Brisket Louise was NOT amused or the least bit interested in humoring my antics.

Accepting the dreaded truth that I was all alone at this point, I let her run back to the bedroom as I grabbed a softball bat from under the bed (hey, I was a single girl living alone for a long time and old habits are tough to break) and slowly walked down the hall. As I peaked my head into the den, I saw something fly by again and land on the ceiling fan. I got closer and discovered that a tiny (and I do mean TINY) bird had accidentally flown into our home.

By this time, Brisket and Halley reappeared and as Halley walked around on her 2 back legs trying to get a closer look, our poor boxer ran back to her crate and whined. What a guard dog! After opening the french doors leading to our backyard, the baby bird finally escaped as Halley chased her outside and thankfully, no one was hurt. When Brisket did get the courage to come back out of her crate after all of the commotion subsided, I couldn't help but laugh at the look of shame in those droopy boxer eyes. Note to self -- closed doors make for peaceful evenings.