July 31, 2012

White Dog and The White Dog Army were going berserk at the door and front windows. This was not the “Mailman!” alert nor the excitement generated when one of the parcel delivery companies stops in front of the house. I sighed and went to see the cause of such ruckus.

White Dog was trying desperately to claw her way through the window and YoYoMa was spinning in circles. Even the normally laid back Quinn was WOOFing in his deep bass bark. I looked out and saw nothing unusual. “What?” I asked. “There is nothing out there. Was that cat from down the block taunting you again?”  The White Dog Army continued to frenzy. “OK, WD, let’s go, we will open the door and see together.”

White Dog hopped down from the window and pushed her way to the door. I maneuvered us out onto the sun porch and shut the inside door behind us. The others crowded to see and remained on high alert. White Dog was growling.

Our window to the front steps is frosted so WD and I were not prepared when we opened the door and were greeted by large flapping wings and turkey like screams. I quickly slammed the door shut. ..And the WDA went wild. I put WD back into the house and slowly opened the door a crack.

There, on the landing was a huge road runner who immediately went into attack mode again. I could feel him flapping and kicking against the door even after I pushed it closed. I went back inside and by pressing my face against the window, I could see he was hiding under the bench when not threatening my family.

 I briefly thought about letting WD and YoYoMa out to hopefully chase him off, but I feared he would claw or peck them and cause injury. I considered calling animal control but as a rescuer hoped that I could find a better solution that would not involve the bird’s demise. The pups were still pacing and periodically giving voice to the fact that the road runner was still here. Lacking insight, I did what I usually do when one of our animals is behaving strangely…I called Dr. Julia.

Once Jessica, the vet tech stopped laughing, she put our beloved vet on the line. I repeated the story to her and she said, “You probably don’t want to mess with him. Road runners are MEAN! It sounds like he has something under the bench with him that he is being territorial about. Maybe something he killed. Keep the White Dogs inside; road runners deliver powerful bites and with their claws they can cause serious damage.”  “He can’t stay here forever,” I said, “I don’t want him hurting Michael or Steve or some unsuspecting delivery person.” “If the dogs keep up their presence, encourage their barking, he will not hang around once he finishes feeding. He might even take his prize and leave for somewhere quieter.”

Thinking her advice sound, I told the WDA to let loose their best assault and just to add to the clamor, sat on the porch banging on a pot. I am certain the neighbors thought that we had finally tipped over the edge. I peeked out of the door to see the road runner pacing in agitation. After a few more minutes (my head was beginning to ache and the White Ones were getting hoarse), I saw him through the screened windows running down the driveway and across the street.  I cautiously opened the door.

He was gone and so was whatever he might have had. And the White Dog Ranch was safe once again.