A 10 lbs. Rat Named Cutie

45 day check-in

Things around the Bitter Bitch house were almost back to normal. Steeler is thriving once again. We were finally in a place where the norm was just the two of us. 

Then I I brought home a ten year old chihuahua with trust issues.

So I ran into some friends, and they show me a picture of an old dog.  Her name is Cutie, and she’s been living in a backyard alone for two weeks. Her owner went into hospice and with no husband or children, there’s nowhere for her to go. She’s terrified of everyone and completely unsocialized. I can only imagine the anguish this woman feels not knowing what might happen to her only companion.  So I take Steeler over and to my surprise, the little dog takes a liking to him.  Me, not so much, but who’s ever met me and liked me anyway? 

So I agree to take her for the night.  She’s timid but not exceptionally.  She rides in the car just fine.  She makes herself right at home on the couch, snuggled up against Steeler.  She’s a little skittish about her food, but I didn’t expect any less. Day two I take them both for a walk and she does amazing! 

That is until she jail breaks through the garage door.  She bolts down the street and is gone.  I call in the neighbors 911. We’re scouring through the neighborhood houses trying to find her. Steeler is hot and tired, dragging his leash, falling behind me as I pull his dead weight down each corridor of homes.  Eventually it becomes obvious that we need to head home and regroup.  As we turn the corner to my house, this twelve pound asshole goes flying past me at warp speed.  I drop the leach, kick off my spooky Crocs, and begin tearing down the street after her.  There I am, running barefoot through my neighborhood holding my titties down with one arm while I swing the other one wildly for momentum.  A landscaper points to the park and I bolt over, heart breaking through my chest it’s beating so hard, just in time to see her squeeze through the bars and out into the roundabout. Cutie hits the pavement and this fucking dog is gone.  Across the street and into the sand, her light color blending in with the dunes.  I’m pouring tears, overcome with guilt, feet bruised and bloody. How am I going to tell this dying woman I lost her fucking dog?!

I live in a large master planned community off a semi-busy road.  About a mile away is a major interstate and on the other side of the complex, vast desert for miles.  I live literally on the last block of town, butted up against a preserve within the Nevada desert. Roadrunners, owls, and an abundance of bunnies come out once the temperatures go down, making their way to the golf course for fresh water. It’s not uncommon to see coyotes in the street at night looking for a meal. If Cutie is out there come nightfall, this little dog is never coming back. 

After driving around endlessly for hours, I accept defeat and head home.  At our gate I see a neighbor walking down the center of the street holding something.  As I pull up I realize it’s a dog wrapped in a shirt, covered in blood.  Little Cutie looks up at me, still conscious, blood smeared on her little snout, breathing heavily. She looks like she was hit by a car.  The woman walks over to my door and lays her in my lap.  She says some men in the desert caught her, about 500 yards out.  It’s literally a fucking miracle.  How they managed to catch her or why they were out there is a complete mystery to me but the stars aligned and the little shit was safe.  I’m crying hysterically, bloody dog in my lap. Once home, she seems to have only cursory wounds: no road rash, no obvious injuries, the blood most likely from a cut somewhere in her mouth.

She spends the night and whole next day vomiting and shitting all over my house, terrified of me and unwilling to go in the yard. Eventually I’m able to drug her, and we all get some much needed rest. She’s put up for adoption immediately the next morning and I’m confident we’ll find her forever home pretty quick.

So where is she now?

Still sleeping on her orthopedic dog bed, next to the other big dumb dog. It looks like I have two dogs again.

What is the moral of the story?

No good deed goes unpunished.