So every single Internet over-sharer parent ever knows that as soon as you proclaim your baby sleeps well, they go and eff you over that very night.
It’s the phenomenon responsible for radio silences from Facebook friends on their newborn’s sleep habits, the reason bloggers throw salt over their shoulders.
But! Apparently it works the other way around, as no sooner did I complain on the interwebz that Henry was sleeping badly, he slept better.
I can’t type how long he slept because the pox will visit my house, and locusts will keep me up all night tonight if I do. But it was a decent chunk, no not any longer than his previous records (babies should Instragram their personal sleep records and I should time his naps with my Garmin for #proof! #fitfluential!) but today I feel so fabulous. I feel pretty! Oh so pretty! Ha.
Good thing I was well rested. Monday morning brought with it fun and rabies.
So it all started when I let Finn out this morning. We’ve had ongoing problems growing grass in our backyard, and it ends up too muddy and wet when it rains and since we just had the lawn aerated, my husband put up a low temporary fence around the muddy grass, that allowed Finn to go into another part of the yard. So Finn runs out flying onto the deck, sails over the low fence like some straight to video AirBuds Gymnastics sequel and is now over the fence, barking his fool head off and getting all muddy-pawed and annoying me. Too busy doing my preschool rusharound routine, I let him bark and drive the neighbors insane for a good hour as he tried to figure out how to get back OVER the fence.
(Sit there and think about what you’ve done!)
So I finally help him back in, spend like ten minutes cleaning his stupid paws with baby wipes and drop off Anna at preschool. Come back, realize Henry had conked out in the baby carrier, so grab Finn for a quick walk. I step onto the front stop, only for Finn to jet away so violently I have to drop the leash so he doesn’t wipe out me and Henry.
I hear Worldwide Wrestling Federation tussling sounds behind the bushes in front of our house. I hear Finn snarling and snapping and weird thrashing noises and I assume it’s a squirrel. Finn comes out from the bush and I grab his leash and look and see this HUGE honkin’ raccoon just standing there all frozen and big and goofy-looking. Finn has no cuts, no blood, no scratches, nothing. He emerged totally unscathed somehow.
Guess that’s why they call them coonhounds. They don’t play around.
The injured raccoon, on the other hand, was not doing so hot. He was kind of licking his wounds under the bush, like a big weirdo, not running away like a good non-rabid raccoon should. So I do what anyone would do and consult Facebook. I did call the vet, too, who said it was fine since Finn is up to date on his shots and just check him for cuts.
Excuse me? Check him for what? I was not about to touch my dog. Ever again. He might as well have been bleeding from every pore and recently returned from the CDC high-security plague research facility.
Someone suggested I call the non-emergency police number and I did since there was the raccoon still hanging out under my bushes. Shudder. I also warned a newbie mailman to watch his step. He was horrified. He was like, this crazy lady with a baby and a dog and a weird-ass raccoon on my first day on this route? Mailman job? Not so great! Back to school with me I go!
So a police cruiser showed up very quickly and the officer looked pretty reluctant to be dealing with this, since he had to shoot the raccoon and then he decided to wait for his “boss” who had a smaller, more nice neighborhood-friendly gun. Then that officer came and then they couldn’t find the raccoon after all. It disappeared into the rainy day. Or they just didn’t want to shoot it and shooed it away?
I sequestered the dog in a stairwell behind a baby gate where he proceeded to exercise every vocalization in his hound dog arsenal (that’s a lot of sounds). Annoying. I was sorry he was in doggie jail for violent, germ-ridden, offenders, but really? Hours of him whining and trying to figure out what the hell to do to clean him off? Finally he stopped crying.
I had Ferberized him. One day, friends! That’s all it took. I used the extinction method. No checking, shushing, or patting.
I debated donning rubber gloves and hosing him down outside, but my baby wasn’t going to stand for being put somewhere safe and out of the way, and I couldn’t very well hold my baby while de-rabies-ifying my dog. So I called every mobile dog grooming business listing I could find.
Apparently mobile dog grooming businesses are very fly-by-night.
Twelve calls later and many many hours later (I periodically threw dog treats into his cell) someone came. A woman with a van. To clean my dog. Of rabid raccoon saliva. Or not. Hopefully it was just raccoon saliva.
I will now spend the next three days Clorox wiping my home. And yard. And street.