Is My Dog a Teeny Weenie Balrog?
Chiweenies don't bark. Rather, they open their mouths to bellow forth the caterwaul of souls doomed to Hell. Our local EMTs have grown used to it. As has the mailman. And the oxygen man. And anyone coming from Heritage for a home visit. Law enforcement peer around us to check that nobody is dying on the stairs.
So there we are on the back deck, ready to go inside after our breakfast biscuit. I lured Hershey in with the promise of an ice cube. Angus and Dante were stubbornly fucking around in the yard. Such rebels.
And then it happened: A noise, or perhaps the squish of feet walking across damp grass, or someone just breathing normally.
"Rrrrrortal rrrrr rrrrrrrgh!" Thus slipped the Hound of Hell, running across the yard and nearly smacking into the fence.
(Dante, on the other hand, ran to the deck to stand behind the spirea shrubs to bark. Ran, tail tucked. This might be the first time Dante witnessed Angus' full rage. I'm not sure.)
Angus channeled his inner Chihuahua to savagely protest a Nacho* walking through our neighbor's yard. He screamed** and shrieked at this interloper, following him from back gate to parking pad. Angus never turned his head to plot his course. Every molecule in his tiny body, every fiber of his being, switched into protection mode.
Balrogs are Maiar, powerful spiritual beings second only to the Valar themselves. They were corrupted by Melkor's evil before the first age and were made into Valaraukar (Demons of Power).
I'm not claiming that my dog is a Balrog. I'll leave that up to you.
Or maybe he is a Balrog, but a teeny weenie one still capable of snatching a wizard with a whip to drag him into darkness? The bastard son of Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs? I'll also leave that up to you.
My vantage point on the deck sucks, and I had to keep my back pressed against the screen door so Hershey wouldn't involve himself. Thus the Nacho could only be confirmed once his feet hit the alley pavement and turned right.
Angus snorted a sigh of relief. He did his job. The entire incident lasted less than a minute. The world is now safe.
Dante shifted to stand behind me. Angus barely acknowledged him as he went inside.
These incidents call to mind a short by Jonny Devaney titled, "God Makes Chihuahuas":
*Nacho... Not (our neighbor) Joe......Horrible dad joke is horrible.
** Serious now: he sounds like a woman screaming as she's beaten, and then combines that with the histrionic warble of suffering and wrath. It's embarrassing.
Do you like that doormat? You can order one at Damn Good Doormats.com.