I hear a rumbling in my garage. No, it’s more like the pillaging sounds of a two hundred pound man.

It’s late and right now it’s just my chocolate lab Hazel and me at home. Suddenly I am quite aware of my soon to be divorced – there is no one, but me to ‘check out the intruder’ status. Of course, I am divorcing a man who once threw me in front of a doberman so that he could pass by it safely. So it might be fair to say that perhaps I was on my own before.

Still…at least then there was another person in the house brave or not so brave.

I should mention that I live on two acres. I should also mention that I am surrounded by fifteen acres of common ground behind my house and another fifty acres off the end of my cul de sac. Hence, I am pretty sure that what I will find in my garage is not two hundred pounds of human.

I look at Hazel. She’s not really much of a fierce wingman (wing-dog). She’s more of the ‘Marley and Me” variety. All charged up and not sure where to focus. She is too cute for words (at least to this mama), but she is also chock full of ‘how bad can I be’ not ‘who can I guard.’

She digs, she steals food, she gets into trash, she decorates our yard with it, she forgets her name when she’s called, she opens doors and that just scratches the surface. Of course, she also knows how to shut doors so I will give her bragging rights to that.

There was also the time we came downstairs to find her on the kitchen bar top. We were never entirely sure how she got up there without flying off the other side (guessing it would have taken quite the running jump to get up so high). We thought she might have had her way drinking down and eating ‘Michael Vick’ the fish, but he was safely intact. It’s a long story, we don’t like Vick since we are animal lovers – then he got signed by the Eagles making it a dilemma for my boys. Somehow the fish got the nickname.

Anyway, back to the intruder.

I look at Hazel and realize support or no support I gotta open the door.

I inch the door open. The bulldog sized raccoon that has been enjoying a progressive dinner between me and my neighbor’s house flies back towards the wilderness.

In a moment Hazel squeezes between my legs.

It is a fury between the two of them. Lots of scrambling. Lots of noise. I panic, but as usual Hazel forgets her name. It seems the two hundred pound raccoon who doesn’t fear Hazel enough to enter our garage doesn’t necessarily want to hang out with her either.

Ten minutes later, Hazel drags herself towards the door. She is exhausted my little raccoon hunter, yet still with enough energy to seek a treat for her bravery.

I sigh relief at my wing-dog’s safety. I am happy to not ‘truly’ be alone – even if Hazel does make our lives the “Marla and Me” variety.

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