Last October, my husband took our older kids to see a horror movie and then through some haunted caves. They dubbed it 'Fright Night' and I wanted nothing to do with it.
 
I planned a fun quiet evening for our youngest daughter and myself at home. An evening that unexpectedly kicked off with a dog fight. Not a playful oh-look-how-cute-they-are-wrestling dog fight. No no. This started over a rawhide chew stick and ended with our dog, Quincy, attached to our dog, Summer's, face. Drool was flying, I was yelling and throwing anything within reach at them, while my daughter screamed, until it finally stopped and they bolted into separate rooms.

She and I stood looking at each other until I finally broke the awkward silence. "So! Who wants to make cookies?"

The offer to take her to get Wendy’s for dinner eventually consoled her. "Can we take the dogs, mommy?"

 
You've gotta be kidding me. But seeing as she'd just witnessed me pelting them with 2 TV remotes and a cell phone, I caved.

I loudly asked the question that brings our dogs running, "Who wants to go bye bye?!"

Apparently I'd been forgiven, because Quincy, Tia, and Summer, all showed up in the foyer. While I gathered my purse and keys, my daughter asked, "Where's Summer's eye?" What the? I looked down to see her wagging her tail and excitedly looking up at me with one normal eye and what appeared to be a bloody hole where the other one should have been.

Oh my dear Lord, as I teetered between vomiting and passing out. Blissfully unaware, Summer anxiously waited for me to open the door, and I suggested that maybe Summer should stay home. My daughter scolded, "You already said bye bye. You'll hurt her feelings if you don't take her now."

I'd have so much more power here if she hadn't seen my involvement in that dog fight. 

 
"FINE!!" Then I sealed the deal by opening the garage door and saying, "Load up."

That's when I realized my husband had taken the van, and there sat his giant pick-up truck, the back end loaded down and piled high with stuff intended for the dump, and our kids’ old motorized police car balanced on the very top of the pile.

I looked down at my daughter with pleading eyes, but she firmly said, "I guess we're taking the truck." 

 
Dammit.

Quincy and Tia sat in the front with me and Summer jumped into the back with Caymen. As we pulled out of the driveway I heard Caymen say, "Just don't look at me, Summer."
A fair request.

We miraculously made it the 20 miles to the Wendy's drive-thru without the police car flying off the back, placed our order and pulled around to the window where all hell broke loose. Quincy began barking and trying to climb through the window toward the attendant, which prompted Tia's low threatening growl that, combined with her 90 lb German Shepherd body, is enough to scare the pee down someone's leg, and then my daughter started screaming from the back seat, "She's looking at me!!!" over and over while Summer sat on her lap.

These are the moments when we count it a success if nobody calls the authorities.

When my husband got home, we compared evenings.

 
Him: "Ours wasn't that scary. How was yours?"
 
Me: "Terrifying."
 
I took Summer to the vet the following morning. Turns out her eye wasn’t gone, but it either rolled into the back of her head or something about dogs having a 3rd eyelid. I don't know. The important thing is, the eye is back. It's bloodshot, doesn't blink, and it's always looking off to the right, but hey, it's back.  

Shari Courter has been married to her high school sweetheart for 23 years. They have 4 children, 1 daughter-in-law, 1 son-in-law, 1 grandson and 1 granddaughter. She's a Licensed Massage Therapist, Zumba instructor, freelance writer, blogger and published author with stories in 5 of the Not Your Mother's Books anthology series. You can follow Shari on Facebook or at Close Courters Blog where she's known for openly sharing her family's many (mis)adventures. Be prepared to hear the good, the bad and the holy crap. 

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