I'm Not Quite Sure, Put There Is An Off-Chance That This Means War In Hillmomba

Hillmomba people problems!

The neighbor dog is at it again. The chicken-killing, Juno-chasing, aggressive-charging, long-tailed, champaigne-or-white (depending on level of cleanliness) standard poodle who lives to make our lives miserable.

When I came home from town around noon, there it rocketed, from out of its driveway and toward T-Hoe, meeting me down the road a bit, where I was easing over the reverse-Braille landscape of the gravel road in front of our BARn section of land. Don't think this beast is a mere car-chaser. I've had a car-chasing dog, and he came to no good end at the wheels of my mother. A car-chasing dog chases for sport. Chases behind the car in an effort to catch, or runs alongside the car in an attempt to bite the tires. This poodle runs AT the car. Right at the driver's door, barking aggressively, not in greeting, not in excitement, not in who-goes-there, but in a snarling kind of way without the curled lip.

I do not like it, Sam-I-Am
Not at all, no sir, no ma'am
I do not like this vicious beast
I do not like it in the least

I'm quite afraid it may go nuts
Tear my flesh there in the ruts
A Cujo-esque fear enters me
Each time that animal I see

Again, as I pulled into our driveway, Poodle crossed the road onto our front yard/field, barking a command of, "Yeah! That's what I'm talkin' about! And don't you come out here again!" I'm sure that's what she was saying in dogese. My loyal protector, my sweet, sweet Juno, sprang off the front porch like a field-trial champion Labrador off a dock to retrieve a duck. I'm certain she has Lab blood coursing through her Border Collie veins, my little Borador. However...she's no match for a blood-thirsty standard poodle, those guard dogs of yore, marching across property lines and pillaging Hillmomba like the Huns, Vandals, Visigoths, and Vikings all rolled into one. With four legs and sharp teeth.

Poor Juno. She was alone in her defense. Ann stood on the porch and barked in syncopation to Juno's yapping. Juno ran at Poodle, then turned tail and scampered back to the porch, then ran at Poodle, then scampered back to the porch...many times. She even kept it up as I reached into the roasting pan of cat kibble, then came to the porch for her snack when that fat black tailless companion joined Poodle. At least Juno sparked them to move on up the road and invade other Hillmomban's property. I heard the volley of new barks to the north.

Farmer H was in the garage, puttering around his $1000 Caravan. The Pony had come out to carry in my groceries from Save A Lot. And get the Hardee's cheeseburger I brought him.

"I am sick of that dog. I don't like it coming at me. I'm getting a SuperSoaker tomorrow when we go to The Devil's Playground. I'm trying to think of what I can put in it that will be unpleasant and cheap."

"Twenty-two birdshot will make it think!"

"That won't fit in a SuperSoaker."

"I'm ready to fling open my door and hit it right in the nose."

"I'm not trying to hurt it. Just make it think twice. Something like orange juice sprayed in its face. Acidic. But cheap."

"Vinegar! Vinegar will do it! It's acidic." The Pony has a chemical mind.

"There's an idea. Maybe I'll try that."

Yeah. With warm weather coming, that dog is going to be on the prowl, and we're going to be outside more. I hate to be bested in a battle of wills with a poodle. But they ARE smart. I used to have a toy poodle, with the proper docked tail, black, a house-dog. He was as smart as my sweet, sweet Juno. Though not as emotionally connected to me. Yes, the enemy is intelligent.

Poodles are the salutatorians of the dog world.