For today’s Blogtember post, I’m supposed to tell a story about a time I was very afraid.
I get scared a lot. I’m a CHICKEN. Like, I still don’t like the dark. If we’re getting ready to go to bed and Mike turns off all the lights in the living room before I've left the room, I freeze in fear and don’t move until he turns a light back on. It’s pretty pathetic.
But when I try to think of a story to tell about a time I was really afraid, there’s only really one. I was walking Tuffy behind our apartments by the creek back when we lived in Chico. It was about and it was still lovely and light out and I wanted to walk him along the creek back to my office to visit the accountants who were working late during tax season. This shirtless, methy, shaved head, tattoo covered guy was walking a little bit behind us and I picked up my pace to put more distance between us. And then he started barking at us. Like a creepy, methed out dog. And instead of running or changing course or you know, anything else, I turned around and said something sassy to him. Not a great move because then he started CHASING me. He started screaming things about how I better watch out, he’s going to get me, calling me the N-word, weird weird awful stuff. So I started running and pounding on apartment doors and this lovely little old lady let me in. And then Tuffy peed all over her porch. Poor scared pug. We called the police and since he was literally walking towards the part of the creek that was across the street from the police station, I’m hoping they nabbed him.
I still can’t believe that lady let me in. In this day and age, I could have very well been some crack head playing a trick on her just to get in her apartment. But she didn't even hesitate; she let me and my scared little dog in and was kind to us and gave us her phone and was genuinely concerned. After he was far away enough gone and I was off the phone with the police, I ran home and called Mike to come home early while I barricaded myself in the apartment.
(We went back the next day and brought her a potted plant and cookies. That lady seriously rocked.)
And from then on, I never have sassed, flipped off, stank-eyed, or anything else a crazy person on the street. And I carry mace.
Because being sassy ain't worth getting choked to death on a public walking path while your pug watches, okay?