"... no one can hear you scream..."

The 1979 sci-fi masterpiece film Alien had the tag line, "In space, no one can hear you scream." I don't live in space, but there is a lot of space around me. I have to admit that I love the fact that I cannot see a single  house from my yard. I have wonderful neighbors, who are there if I ever need anything from a helping hand to a cup of sugar, but wherever I look there are trees and fields, deer and turkey and wildlife. It's lovely.

Our grand Pug Opal is here for a spend-the-night. She is 7 months old now, and the embodiment of happiness. We are all in love with her, especially Rachel, who tells me almost every day, "I love my puppy." So try to imagine my horror when she was nearly killed before my very eyes today.

Here she is, 13 pounds of firmly packed joy. She is mostly a very good dog, but she is young and foolish, and has one terrible habit... sometimes she will dash out a door or through a gate, and giddy with freedom, refuse to be captured.

 See that fence behind Opal? It has openings 4" square. Late this afternoon, while I was in the back yard taking care of chickens, potting a few plants, pulling a few weeds, and generally puttering, Opal gave me the side eye and pushed through one of those squares in the fence, out into the pasture. She was delighted, and made a bee line for the donkeys. To their credit, Sarah and Abraham did not kick her when she dashed inches behind their heels. But Jezebel? She took one look at the little fawn dog dancing in her space and decided she needed to kill it.  She was off at warp speed, chasing the tiny pug.

 The gentle little donkey turned into something rather fierce and terrifying.  Her ears were pinned flat, her lips pulled back in a horrible grimace. 300 pounds of angry equine was thundering around the gleeful little puppy. With her front hooves, she tried to smash the dog into the ground, with her long teeth she tried to bite.I could not catch either of them.

Please let me tell you that I am not a screamy kind of woman. I don't come from loud people. My father greatly disliked raised voices, and we were taught from an early age to modulate our tone or be spoken to firmly. In 35 years of marriage I have never raised my voice at my husband.But tonight I screamed. I screamed and screamed and screamed some more, trying to stop the donkey from smashing baby Opal.How would I ever tell Rachel and Evans that I had allowed their sweet puppy to be killed so horribly?

 Confused by my uproar, the donkey paused her chase for one moment, and to my relief, Opal had a moment of clarity and ran towards the gate, then lay flat, submissive, allowing me to scoop her up. My heart was racing, blood pounding. I hoped my neighbors had not heard me, how embarrassing!

I held the puppy tightly and showed her to Jezebel. Trying to calm myself and speak in a normal tone I told her, "Do not hurt this dog. She belongs here." Jezebel sniffed her, but looked dubious. Opal hung in my arms, limp as a noodle. I think she realized she had felt the hot breath of death, and it smelled like donkey.

I carried her to the house, and once she was safe I began to tremble. My throat hurt from screaming. The adrenaline that had been dumped by my nervous system left me feeling weak and stupid.
It was then that there was a knock at the door. My sweet neighbors Joyce and Dan were there, looking terribly concerned. "Are you alright? Dan thought he heard you scream."  I was flooded with a weird mixture of gratitude and shame. What must they think of me? I had made the most horrendous sounds out there, watching the drama unfold before me. I tried to explain, and I hope they understood, but really, how could they? Unless you've seen an beloved, innocent creature nearly die right before your very eyes, it all sounds rather ridiculous.

At least I know, now, that someone can hear me scream. I hope they never have a chance to again, but isn't it nice that they cared to come and check on me? Blessings all around.