The adrenaline is still coursing through my body, and I have a baby to get back to sleep and here's why.
Some time around 11:30 last night, I woke up to the dog racing outside, barking. Her bark was serious, and I knew it must have been raccoons.
I bolt out of bed, yelling for S and run out back to try and see what's going on. As I'm trying to see what's going on, in the dark and without my glasses, the dog yelps and starts whining the noise of a dog that's been hurt. I yell urgently for her and scream for S again (it seemed like forever since the first one) Panicked that she's in a losing battle and I can't see a damn thing to figure out what to do, I am very relieved when furry S comes running to me tail between her legs.
S goes outside and determines it's several of the bastards. He smartly blocks the doggie door so none of our furry friends can get out and none of the rabid beasts could get in, grabs a flashlight and the hose. We've had visits from raccoons before, and the only deterrent is the hose on high power stream. So while he's protecting the territory, I'm tending to a very awake baby, and trying to figure out if the dog is injured. I sit on the floor by her, petting and calming her. I don't see any wounds on her neck, head, chest, legs, abdomen or even her back, so maybe she's okay and yelped because she was "outgunned". Then, she starts licking her hindquarters as I notice blood on the floor. Sgt. S comes in to give an intelligence briefing and we look at her butt. She's been bit somewhere, but there's blood all over so it's hard to figure out how much of a wound.
He goes out to try and eradicate the last insurgent stronghold in the tree. I ask if we can't just get a gun and shoot them. He assures me that would be illegal in city limits. I tell him it might have to be in self-defense. Still trying to entertain/calm a baby and dog, my militia man is able to warn the neighbor who has just let her dog outside. Although I think her pitbull, who is a total sweetheart, would probably make quick work of a raccoon, I don't think she wants to test that theory.
S has done all he can. There's one last one high in the tree, out of hose range. He gives up on Os@ma and comes in. After making sure all three cats are accounted for, Dr. S sizes up furry S and even though she doesn't seem too bothered, makes the call to head to the emergency vet. Considering the masked death squad somehow managed to actually bite or rip a very important part of her anatomy that could make it painful to do her business, that seems like a wise, if expensive option. She's worth it. So, almost two hours later, little S is mostly back asleep, and I got a text asking if we had an E collar, so it must not have been too bad?
We'll have to see in the morning what the body count from the fish pond will be. Bastards.