At about 7 AM, I hear the Boyz outside. Not a bark, but definitely a strange sound. Different. I note it in my mind, hmm, that was an odd sound.
I drift back into sleep, having decided not to ruin my Sleepy Haze by getting up and going to the bathroom. I hear the back door open and close and Frank runs into my room, blood dripping down his leg. He was holding his wrist and in a strained voice he say, come and see if McGee is all right.
McGee was fine, Frank was not.People are going to start thinking we are having MMR fights behind our closed doors every week! Geez. I was hoping that he was not going to need a visit to Dr. Day or Dr Gorgeous.
Frank literally dives in on top of them. Finely tuned athlete, remember? And he hits his knee on the stones, his wrist on a cement block. He wrestles among the dogs and wins the squirrel. Which was too stunned to bite him, thankfully.
He tosses the squirrel over the fence. And the dogs get into a teeth slashing, snarling loud, epithet tossing, ethnicity questioning stream of curses. So he jumps in to separate the vicious dog fight.
His hand was scraped on the metal fence, and he knocks over the cat statute that sits on one of the little graves they are desiccating. Although if it was Chips, he was probably channeling a lot of anger and biting.
the minute the dogs were inside, they were standing like long time buddies, trying to figure out how they were going to get outside. Frank told them they were in time out, relegated to inside for the next few hours until the momma squirrel finds her baby again.
I checked out both dogs, then Frank. Not a mark on the dogs. Not a single mark. Frank was beaten up, covered in mud. Several body parts were dripping blood and he has a brush burn on his knee, now sporting a large gauze pad and tape. Like a symbol of meritorious service.