The Last Flight of the Chihuahua

“What happened to this dog?”

I was sitting in the vet’s parking lot, windows wide open despite the heavy cold spring rain. Thanks to Covid protocol I wasn’t allowed to come into the vet’s office but had handed a growling, barking, and extremely smelly pet carrier off to a vet’s assistant and waited for the vet to call my cell. Well the vet had called, but I wasn’t sure she’d believe me.

I’d called an hour before trying to cradle my cell between my shoulder and my ear as I held my mother’s Chihuahua as it squirmed violently in the towel I’d wrapped it.

“Woodman Animal Clinic,” a chipper voice had answered,” can you hold, please”

“No,” I said, “I really can’t”

“Oh, okay” the receptionist responded, sounding a bit surprised.

“ I need to make an appointment with the vet as soon you can get us in,”

“Well, you’re in luck actually; we have an opening at 9:00.”

“I’ll take it” I responded

“Sure, is this a new patient or have you been here before?” she continued.

“She has,” I said still trying desperately to keep the phone pinched in place as I felt tiny teeth pushing their way through the terrycloth.

“Ok, what’s the owner and the pet’s name”

“The owner is Susan Jennings, this is her daughter Beth. The pet’s name is Precious.”

“Right, Jennings, Precious….oh!…um…unfortunately we don’t have any openings until next week, you might try”

I heard a distant voice yell something and then suddenly was listening to a hold message. Thirty seconds later the receptionist returned to the line and wearily laid out the new Covid protocols, explaining that I would have to bring Precious to the parking lot and wait while she was taken in to see Doctor Burckhardt, to keep my phone on me, to remain masked, and to please make sure that my pet was securely crated,

“Seriously, “ she stressed “make sure all those doors are secure, we don’t want her getting loose in the office.”

At first the situation had seemed ideal. After years of living the life of an academic nomad I’d managed to get an administrative position at the same college my father had taught at almost until his death. This was the town where my mother had worked as children’s librarian, where I’d grow up splitting my free time between the library and the half dozen pets that my younger sister and I kept. Now, entering my 40s, I'd come home. First, I’d moved into a small rented house that allowed pets and finally was able to have a vegetable garden and a dog of my own. I got a golden retriever puppy I named Winston. Winston loved everything on Earth other than the garbage truck. Last year I was able to use the college credit union to finance a large ramshackle Victorian home in a funky, gentrifying neighborhood within walking distance of campus.

The house itself was a bit of good fortune for me, as it had been bought by amateur flippers, who had bought the house in hopes of fixing it and reselling it, but had run out of money for the project, and had settled for selling it as soon as it was habitable. It was habitable, but still had a lot of minor repairs that I was ticking off in my free time, in so much as I had any.

My father passed away five years ago, and my mother had downsized to a one story two bedroom. After a few months, she decided to get a dog to keep herself company, Precious. Precious was a white chihuahua with a bad temper. There were two good things to be said for Precious. She loved Mom, and she was housebroken. She hated every other living thing. Precious had to be shut in another room when visitors came to the house, and even then stayed near the door growling and yapping angrily.

“Mom,” I told her once, “maybe you should get Precious a trainer, Carol knows some people..”

I’d taken Winston to Carol’s obedience class when his exuberance for meeting strangers was ceasing to be cute given his increasing size. Carol had been terrifying at first, and honestly she still intimidated me, but Winston had blossomed under her tutelage. “He needs a job” Carol told me after Winston finished his first level of obedience. “He’s got too much energy and he’s too smart to be satisfied without one.”

“Don’t be silly” Mom responded “She’s not a working dog like Winston”

Winston was training in search and rescue, but he wasn’t a working dog either.

“Precious is housebroken, she comes when I call, she’s fine. She’s just protective. “ Mom went into the kitchen and said under her breath, but loud enough for me to hear. “And that woman is scary”

“Carol isn’t scary,” I said, lying a little “And I don’t mean with her, but she knows people who work with smaller dogs. Precious is too protective. At least Sarah and the kids could come more often.”

“What do you mean” Mom said returning with a cup of tea I hadn’t asked for or wanted.

“Precious wouldn’t be so afraid of Dakota and Darby” I finished lamely ‘She might want to play with them.”

I had no idea if Precious actually was afraid of my young niece and nephew, but my sister’s family had insisted on staying in hotels and then my little house during her annual visits from Florida. While Sarah had insisted to Mom that there simply wasn’t enough room for all of them in Mom’s new house, the truth was that she didn’t trust Precious around her children.

“Well there’s that” Mom said “and with the baby on the way…I’ll think about it.”

When I first moved back to Ohio the amount of urban wildlife had surprised me. I had lost a lot of the fruits of my initial attempts at gardening at the rented house to rabbits and squirrels. The rabbits came in the night and mostly concentrated on leafy vegetables. The squirrels were far bolder, first digging up planted seeds and bulbs, and then wrecking havoc on my tomatoes just as they’d ripened.

The new, older house surprisingly showed little signs of wildlife. The neighborhood itself had plenty of squirrels and rabbits, as well as raccoons and opossums, despite being close to the center of a good sized city. I’d seen plenty of them while walking Winston in the early morning hours before I left for work. One morning we’d even encountered a skunk. Happily, though, I had seen none of them on my actual property. Soon I would learn why.

One night in the spring I hear a bloodcurdling screech, followed by another coming from the attic. I grabbed a flashlight and headed cautiously up the attic stairs with stories that included lines such as “why don’t you check on the children?” and ‘the killer is in the house!” running through my mind.

The only light in the attic was in the middle of the ceiling and turned on and off by a pull chain, meaning at night you’d have to walk halfway across the attic in the dark to turn it on. I hadn’t made it that far when two pairs of eyes glittered at me, and another screech followed. My flashlight focused on the beautiful heart shaped face of an adult barn owl, and ball of dirty white fluff that was an owlet. The floor around them was littered with small animal bones that were the explanation for the lack of animals in the yard. They were being eaten. Neither the owl nor her child broke eye contact with me. Despite the fact they were living uninvited in my attic I got the feeling I was intruding. As if to nail down the message that I'd overstepped my boundaries a second adult owl appeared from out of nowhere and joined its little family. I went back down the stairs as quietly as I could.

The next day I looked at the attic from the outside and saw a missing window pane where the owls were getting into the house. I recalled the missing pane, which had been sealed with plastic, being on the list of things the sellers were supposed to fix before closing. Well they hadn’t, and no flimsy piece of plastic was going to stop a breeding pair of full grown owls from returning to a reliable nesting spot.

From a brief Google search I learned that barn owls had adapted from nesting in hollow trees to nesting in manmade structures. It was possible that my attic had been being used as a nursery by owls for years now. I also learned that owls, like all birds of prey were highly protected, and moving them against their will could be expensive and legally tricky. The owlet would be old enough to head out on its own in a couple of months, and with the winter behind us I saw no reason not to wait a little longer. I even considered building a barn owl house for them that summer. I didn’t want to lose airborne pest control if I could help it.

In the meantime, it sort of like having a living episode of Animal Planet. It seemed best to stay out of the attic for the time being, but I enjoyed watching the male hunt in the neighboring yards. I didn’t know how many owlets they were feeding, but given the amount of hunting he was doing it seemed like it was a substantial number. At first it was mostly field mice and voles, but eventually his quarry increased in size to chipmunks, then to full sized squirrels, baby rabbits, and a wiggling white creature that I hoped was a possum.

About the time the barn owls welcomed their children, my sister in Florida had followed suit, giving birth to nine pound baby girl. I’d called to congratulate them talking to my brother-in-law Mike.

“Hey, Beth,” he whispered. “Sarah’s sleeping. I’m holding the baby.

“How’s the baby” I whispered back reflexively matching his tone.

“She’s doing really well,”

“How do the kids like having a new sister?”

“They’re crazy about her, but they keep waking her up. I think Sarah’s going to kill all of us if they don’t stop it.”

It was another week before I spoke to Sarah.

She actually called me. “Hey sis, " came a weary voice.

“Hey, how you doing?”

“I’ve slept six hours in two days” she answered. “Yesterday I was convinced the Elmo doll was trying to kill me.”

“Wow", I said trying to think of something the spinster sister could offer as comfort. At a loss I said “anything I can do?”

‘um, actually yeah, I want to send Mike and the kids to his Mom’s for a few days.”

“Are you going to need some help?”

“Yeah, Mom’s coming”

“Oh, okay” then my blood ran cold as I realized what she was about to ask for.

“So I need you to watch Precious for her.”

“Uh well, I would but I don’t know how she’d do with Winston.”

“He’ll be fine, he’s ten times her size” she said. I could sense her patience running out “besides, it might be fun for him to have another dog to play with”

It took all my strength not to laugh. Precious hated other dogs and barked at them furiously through Mom's front window whenever she saw one.

Desperate for an alternative I said “you know, maybe I could come? I have some vacation time and we’re mostly remote right now”

Sarah made no effort to restrain a long withering laugh, followed by a “no”.

If you want to introduce a new dog into a household that already has a dog, or two strange dogs to each other there’s a procedure to it, rules. Introduce them in neutral territory, on a walk, for example. Precious didn’t go for walks, or even know how to walk on a leash. She didn’t believe any territory was neutral. The only one I got to follow was that it’s better if the dogs are of the opposite sex.

Mom brought precious over in a small pet carrier, letting her out as soon as she sat down. Precious growled at me menacingly while Mom talked excitedly about the baby, the trip, and her travel plans. She’d only be gone two weeks, maximum. Just long enough for Sarah to recuperate a little. I honestly didn’t catch most of it, trying not to make eye contact with Precious. Well, I thought, maybe she’ll calm down when Mom leaves.

She didn’t. After Mom left I picked her up and carried her to the back yard, as she growled and bared her teeth.

I’d forgotten Winston was already there. At the sight of another dog he rushed happily to greet her. She squirmed out of my arms and began barking and snapping at Winston, who started backing up cautiously. Taking his retreat as encouragement Precious proceded to chase Winston around the yard, until he raced back into the house, up the stairs, and into the safety of my home office. Precious sat at the bottom of the stairs, hackles raised, eyeing the obstacle separating her from her prey. Each step was easily as tall as she was but she made a game attempt at climbing before finally giving up and leaping on the couch. I don't like dogs on the furniture, but for the duration of her stay that couch was to be hers, and hers alone.

In fact Precious quickly took over the first floor of the house. I worked out a system that involved luring her to the kitchen with food in her dish (I was not about to try and give her treats by hand), so that Winston could have safe passage to the outside to relieve himself, or to go for walks and for training. I then had to act as his advance scout to make certain she wasn't lying in wait for him when he returned.

I called Carol to ask her advice. Carol already had heard repeated stories about Precious, and while she totally disapproved of the way Precious had been raised, she was also eager to finally have an opportunity to intervene.

“Has she bonded with you at all?”

“Well she didn’t actually growl at me when I fed her this morning”

“That’s not much to work with. I’m booked until Friday, but I could come over then.”

I told her that sounded great, I was tired of being held captive by a 5 pound Chihuahua. I'd just have to make it a few more days.

That’s when Precious disappeared. As I mentioned, Precious was housebroken. However she was also very reluctant to relieve herself when anyone was watching. I had to let her outside then feign going out of sight until she returned inside. This could take a while as she might have come when Mom called, but she didn’t extend this courtesy to me. Still eventually she came back. Then one day she didn't.

I don’t know what Precious was chasing, maybe it was a cat. All I heard was a sudden burst of furious yapping, and the sight of a white streak as Precious raced up the alley as fast as her little legs could carry her. I looked in horror as I saw her breakaway collar dangling from the fence above a small Chihuahua sized hole. Not only was she gone, but anybody unfortunate enough to find her would have no ID. It occurred to me that I didn’t even know if she was chipped. I raced up the alley myself, as fast as I could, but not as fast as her. She was nowhere in sight. A phrase ran through my head that I hadn’t thought in 20 years.

“My God, my Mom is going to kill me.”

I decided to take advantage of the fact that I had a dog trained to find people. No reason to think his skill wouldn’t extend to other dogs. Winston was wiggling with excitement when he saw me take out his harness and the 30 foot lead that were to tools of his trade. He loved tracking and he was a pleasure to watch, following a scent and weaving back and forth, exhausting possible leads until he found his goal. I took him to where Precious’s collar was still dangling from the fence.

“Mark it!” I said. “Find Precious!”

He excitedly sniffed the collar. Suddenly he looked like someone had found his off switch. All his energy and excitement vanished and he sat down.

“Come on!” I said, “Find her!”

He lay down fully on his belly, his face between his fore paws.

“Winston, let’s go get precious”

He finally got up and led me back into the house, up the stairs, and into my office where he settled down under the desk and refused to be moved. Wherever Precious was, he wasn’t going after her.

I walked around the neighborhood calling her name, (which was pointless, it’s not like she came when I called) I got in the car and drove the streets and the alleys between my house and Mom’s in case she might make an Incredible Journey style attempt to go home, and stick to the roads. (There was also the less romantic possibility she'd been hit by a car.) I called the Humane Society, the animal shelters, a dozen vets, and, reluctantly, animal control (I got an earful from them) and posted to Craigslist describing her, and giving the warning “be careful, she bites.” I even called Carol who made me feel even worse than animal control had.

At times I swore I could even hear her yapping. I even dreamt of her. In the dream I was following her yapping down an endless drain pipe where I could hear her muffled barks but couldn’t see her. I awoke from the dream, the pipe was gone, but I could still hear the barking. It was coming from overhead, barking and screeching.

Oh my God, she was in the attic!

I raced up the attic stairs. There was a terrible ruckus, and an even more terrible smell. Suddenly I heard Winston scrambling up the stairs behind me. The attic echoed now with the owls’ screeching, Precious yapping, and Winston’s thunderous barking. I made it to the light, pulled the chain and looked in horror at the sight in front of me.

Barn owls will actually stockpile food for their young. My theory is that Precious had found a place to hide for a couple of days, gotten hungry, and decided to come back. Unfortunately for her, she'd gotten intercepted along the way.

More fortunately for her, my owls weren’t all that good at administering the coup de grace to their prey. Precious was standing, very scratched and filthy in the middle of a circle of snapping beaks. Both adult owls were there as well as six or seven owlets. Precious was spinning to snap back at her attackers. There next to her, also very much alive, was a baby skunk. Precious was also snapping at the little skunk. The skunk was slowly turning, tail raised, as if to settle on a target. As Winston joined the fray apparently it made up its mind and released its volley at the big orange dog.

Getting sprayed by a skunk was enough for Winston and he fled back to his hiding place under my desk. I waded into the mass of teeth, beaks and fumes and scooped Precious up, who thanked me for my rescue by sinking her teeth into my arm. As I turned to escape the baby skunk apparently decided to again go with the largest target and let loose another spray at my retreating backside.

I dumped Precious in the upstairs bathroom and peeled off my stinking clothes, changing into the tattered coveralls and gas mask I used for stripping paint, grabbed a towel , and went back up into the attic hoping to remove the skunk before it released again. I was too late for the skunk , the owls had closed on it like a hoard of zombies, thought its stench was still thick in the air even through my mask. It wasn’t until after I’d pulled the light chain that I remembered that I was still barefoot. I descended the attic stairs having serious second thoughts about owls as house guests.

I went into the office and coaxed Winston out long enough to check on him. He hadn’t been hit in the face thankfully, so the worst he was likely to face was a series of unpleasant baths. The same could not be said of Precious who had numerous scratches, a bite out of one ear, and who knows what other injuries from her brush with death. I cornered her in the bathroom and made the call to the vet, though it occurred to me that I probably should have done that in the reverse order.

After my conversation with an incredulous Doctor Burckhardt “I wouldn’t believe it if I wasn’t looking at it” Precious was thoroughly examined for internal injuries, miraculously she had none, but she did get a lot of stitches. The dog I picked up looked like a frankendog. Doctor Burckhardt also renewed a prescription Precious apparently already had for anxiety medication. Thanks for not telling me about that Mom.

I ended up burning my skunk sprayed clothes and giving myself a horrendous hair cut. I ordered a special dog shampoo to remove the skunk smell, which I used both on Winston and myself. Even with repeated showers I had no trouble with social distancing for quite some time. Precious also smelled of skunk, though not as strongly. With her stitches it would have been impossible to bathe her, if I had been willing to try.

Under the anxiety medication Precious still wasn’t very friendly, but she did stop actively terrorizing Winston and myself. We never really did bond, but she was gracious enough to let me sit on my own couch with only a token snarl for the remainder of her visit.

Mom didn’t kill me, but she did assure me that I was permanently excused from dog sitting. I didn’t argue. I still stank pretty badly, so I don’t think she wanted to draw out the conversation anyway.

In a few weeks went into the attic to spy on my avian houseguests. They seemed to have left for the time being. I’ll get the window fixed, and might even build that barn owl house. I still could use the rodent control.

Then again, maybe I’ll just get a cat.