When life is not what you pictured

There were 1,000 things wrong with this scene, and I was responsible for at least 1,001 of them.

What a start to the week this has been.

In addition to our own home here on this remote coastal marsh, we now own the cabin and land next door.

Extra house means house guests. These let us know that their little kids don’t like dogs.

You know how dogs pick up on that discomfort? I made a huge effort to keep everyone safe and separated.

This meant a lot of crate time for Pup this week. She goes willingly. But there is no doubt she would much rather be roaming our 10 acres.

By the time the guests left Monday morning, Pup was way off her routine and her game, meaning she didn’t do what she needed to doo-doo on our morning walk.

I surmised this is what led to her whining and pawing at me.

It doesn’t mean I was happy with the interruption. I was already behind in my work.

Then, there were emergency calls about life from each of the daughters.

Before they left, the houseguests showed me how a water bubble was about to burst through the cabin’s bathroom ceiling.

Pup kept pawing at my leg. “Alright. We’ll do a quick walk down our road,” I gave in.

By our road I mean the dirt path surrounded by marsh forest separating our house from the next one.

If I’ve said it once, I’ve told Husband a million times. I know Pup is fine to walk off leash, but you always need to have one with you.

Except for this one time when I didn’t take my own advice.

Half-way down the lane, I heard the pitching squeal.

I spun around to see Pup in a WWE wrestling hold with a racoon.

I yelled, “No!” which of course was completely useless.

Her part-bluetick coonhound DNA had kicked in. Her brain was a billion miles away.

She and the raccoon flipped around. I finally had to reach in and grab her collar to pull her off.

I knew I couldn’t get her all the way home crouched over holding her collar, so I reached down, scooped her up and started carrying her home.

That would be the end of the story if I didn’t hear the squealing right behind me.

I turned around to see the darn raccoon sassing and chasing me down the path!

The nerve!

Before you city folk race to send me email convinced Pup is doomed for rabies, these are not your city raccoons.

She was one very healthy-looking mama protecting her nearby babies.

This was my “not the life I pictured” moment of the week.

Hauling a crazy dog down a dirt lane with a ticked-off raccoon road raging at my heels. The worst part?

The raccoon was absolutely right.

Her house.

My 1,001 mistakes.

I have to do better.

It’s only Monday.

Daryn Kagan is the author of the book “Hope Possible: A Network News Anchor’s Thoughts On Losing Her Job, Finding Love, A New Career, And My Dog, Always My Dog” and Executive Director of the Just One More Foundation. Email her at Daryn@darynkagan. com.