It has been a week since I was nearly stabbed to death

Last weekend, I was home alone at the convent. Well, actually, that is not true: I was the only human at the convent; in fact, I was accompanied by four dogs, two cats, and one fish—all of whom were entrusted to my care. The nuns + NIT drove our former housemate, Yessina, to Los Angeles to begin her new life, thus requiring my vigilant care of the zoo-like domestic brood.

Though we live in a country house on a quiet farm street, I was anxious about my solo condition because the Sisters had forgotten to leave me a house key; every time I left the house, I was vulnerable to intruders and other undesirables. Still, I soldiered on.

Even before my near-death experience Sunday, the weekend was difficult. On Thursday I ate a dubious burrito in Mexico and suffered its poisonous effects all weekend (use your imagination). Also, the “Sun City” has been under water; in the last week alone, more rain fell in the area than usually accumulates in a year. Floods, mudslides, and closed roads have basically sidelined the entire region. And, of course, there was the other…. issue… I faced during my home stay.

The Issue. I am ashamed to admit that under my watch, the convent has been christened… and I don’t mean in the religious way. For the first time, sex has occurred—many, many times—within the convent’s confines. Specifically, Surge “surged” all over Zoey… all weekend. (Below please find a picture of Zoey-Surge-Foreplay)

Zoey is one of the dogs in my charge. Surge is the mutt who used to squat at our neighbor’s house (now he squats on Zoey). On Friday afternoon, Surge discovered how the dog door to our house works. On Saturday, he discovered other “doors”. In every room he made this discovery. Loudly. In the kitchen, while I was making coffee. In the hallway outside my room, while I was getting dressed. In the family room- while I tried to listen to Tim Russert lay into Bob Casey- grunting, thrusting, panting. (actually, what I did hear from Mr. Casey was pretty pitiful, so the noise pollution probably did him a favor). Humpage all over our house.

What would the nuns say? In my two weeks in the house, I hadn’t yet learned their canine coitus policies, so I was left assuming they were as strict as the fornication rules governing their own lives; of the four promises these women made at Final Vows, two concerned sex! Each takes a vow of celibacy and a vow of chastity. Truthfully, I can’t even guess the difference (Aunt MB, do you know?), but what I can conclude is that these women take pureness seriously. And now, just three days under my tutelage, their house is defiled. Are there purification ceremonies for convents to counter the taint of mutt sexin’? At least I kept them out of the chapel…

Anyway, back to my near death experience… this all ties in. I left the dog door to our house open all day Sunday, to encourage Zoey and Surge to take it outside (they were bothering the other dogs, too. Bailey at one point barked out something that I am sure was the canine equivalent of “get a room”!). Thankfully, Zoey and Surge disappeared for a spell, allowing me to suffer my stomach parasite—affectionately named “Eugene”- in peace.

Then, at nightfall, I noticed an elderly gentlemen limping up our driveway. Was this Mr. Trujillo, our neighbor who has threatened to call the dog catcher if another member of our brood defecates in his fields? Quickly, I ran a dog roll call: Saga, check. Yogi, check. Bailey, check. Zoey… ZOEY!!! I ran outside to plead my case to Mr. Trujillo—I couldn’t allow a dog to be nabbed on my watch!—but he was already gone. Probably to the pound to watch Zoey’s slaying. I got into a car and did a search of the neighborhood. Twenty minutes and no Zoey. Hopeful that she had found her way home, I returned to the house; still, no bottom-biting, sexin’ pooch. Resigned to meet the Trujillos on their turf, I walked toward my room to put on a pair of jeans (I was already p.j.-rammed because of my infirmity) and a contrite countenance.

OMG. One of the five doors in the long hallway at the back of the house was closed… a door which had been open only an hour before.

OMG!

I wasn’t alone.

While I had been searching for that damned dog whom I had banished from my presence for humping all over the house, an intruder had entered… an intruder who was now hiding in Skarlee’s room, waiting for his opportunity to slaughter me. I skulked to my room, grabbed my cell phone, and called the only person who I knew would be awake at that hour (to give him my address to call into the paramedics in the event that I was stabbed while we were on the phone). Less than sympathetic to my precarious situation, Peter insisted that I open the door to my murderer’s hide out.

“I know you are here, Intruder! Jump out the window now because I have the police on the phone,” I called.

No response.

“Open the damn door!”, Peter yelled in my ear.

“He is going to kill me”, I responded.

Then, over Peter’s guffaw, I heard the sounds of a struggle from within the room. “Peter,” I whispered, “someone is in the room!”.

“OPEN THE DOOR!”, he roared. Incanting the Blessed Mother to accept my sinful soul into the warmth of heaven, I pushed the door open and ran.

THE DOOR SLAMMED SHUT!

OMG, OMG, OMG!

For God knows what reason, I pressed my luck. I again flung open the door and…

OUT RAN ZOEY AND SURGE!!!!

Bitch! Bastard! Damned dogs!! They had heeded Bailey’s plea and had, indeed, gotten a room—and locked themselves in it!!! Needless to say, Surge slept outside and Zoey went to bed without a biscuit!

I was nearly killed because Surge can’t keep it to himself.

I am the best damn dog sitter who ever lived.


(...though, apparently, not the greatest fish guardian; Nemo died two days after the nuns’ return. A coincidence, I am sure…)