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How a 3-Pound Chihuahua Scared Me Out of Rescuing Dogs

"I open what remains of my screen door to be met with the tiny little Chihuahua, whom we will now refer to as Cujo."

 |  May 9th 2014  |   19 Contributions


I’ve just left my home and I'm about to get into my car when I drop my keys. As I bend over to pick them up, I notice something under my car. Is that a dog? Why, yes. Yes, it is.

There is a tiny little Chihuahua hiding under my car. 

“Oh, come here, tiny little Chihuahua,” I say in my best ooey-gooey baby puppy voice. “Come over here and we will see if we can find your mommy.” The tiny little Chihuahua is not impressed. He does not move, he does not blink, he barely acknowledges my presence. 

“Okay, fine, tiny little Chihuahua. You don’t have to like me, but you do need to get out from under my car, and I would like to return you to where ever you are supposed to be living, as I’m fairly certain it is not under my car.”

I reach under the car and attempt to grab the tiny little Chihuahua, but he moves just enough that I can no longer reach him from this side. Aww, the tiny little Chihuahua is scared.

I move to the other side of my car and attempt to retrieve him from that side. Again, he moves just enough back to the other side that I once again cannot reach him. Great. So we are going to play this game.

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"Awww, what a tiny scared Chihuahua!" I thought. Photo: Dog on motorcycle by Shutterstock

Just then a neighbor comes out, apparently because he has been watching me from his window, as I roll around on my driveway and he can no longer contain his curiosity. I explain to him about the tiny little Chihuahua who is terrified and hiding under my car, and we agree to tag team the pup. He goes on one side of the car, I go on the other side, and we both reach for the tiny little Chihuahua.

I did not anticipate what would happen next. The tiny little Chihuahua bolted from under my car and ran directly into the screen door in my garage, hard enough that he went through the screen and into my house. I did not see the rescue operation taking this turn of events.

Oh, well, at least the tiny little Chihuahua is out of immediate danger and I can calm him down, we can become best friends, and I will snuggle him until I find his mommy and daddy.

Or ... I can open what remains of my screen door to be met with the tiny little Chihuahua, whom we will now refer to as Cujo.

Cujo is standing right inside the doorway snarling, to the point where I am actually a little concerned that he might have rabies. For being about one-foot tall, the little guy sure does put on a show. He is snarling, bearing his teeth, foaming at the mouth, and his eyes are so locked into mine that I dare not even blink.

“Oh, I see you are scared, tiny little Cujo Chihuahua, I’m not going to hurt you, let me show you,” I say in my ooey gooey baby voice as I step into the house.

Cujo lunges at me and bites my shin. 

Apparently there will be no showing of love and affection. OK, plan B.

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A very poorly rendered reenactment of the scene.

I call animal control. This is pretty much exactly what my neighbor, who is still standing next to me, hears as I’m talking to the animal control operator: “Hi, um yes, there is a dog in my house that is not mine, and I’d like him removed. Uh huh, yes, not mine. Yep, in my house. He went through my screen. Uh huh. I’d say he is about three pounds. No, I’m not kidding. No, I don’t want to remove him myself -- he is a little bit scary. No, he’s not scared, I am. Well, I mean, he probably is scared, but so am I. Yes, I’m totally serious, come get him.”

They give me an estimated response time of two to three hours. Well, this is just freaking fabulous. 

Eventually the animal control guy showed up, and to say that he seemed less than thrilled would be the understatement of the year. Like a boss, the dude just flings the screen door open, charges in, and, I kid you not, comes running right back out.

“Oh, so I see we have a feisty one,” says the animal control dude as he tries to play it cool. He grabs what looks like an oversized fishing net and goes back into the house.

He is in there for all of about 38 seconds before I hear him yelp and again come running back outside. Still trying to play it cool, he looks at me and says, “Wow, he moves fast for being so little. This might be easier with another person.” 

Well, good luck buddy, because that other person sure as hell ain’t gonna be me. 

His back-up buddies arrive, two of them, and into the house they go. 

I don’t even know what went on in there. As soon as I saw the dog poop on my floor I about had a heart attack and retreated to the safety of my garage, fearing for my house’s life and too scared to watch its inevitable destruction. I heard quite a bit of snarling and I learned that, yes, there are some grown men who are able to scream in just as high of a pitch as I do.

Several times they all came running out of the house to “regroup and strategize.” Please -- you dudes are shaking in your professional boots and you ran for your lives.

Eventually it took three guys and a tranquilizer gun to get tiny little Cujo Chihuahua out of my house. A three-pound dog outsmarted five grown adults.

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A diagram of size versus attitude.

When I went back in the house later it looked like a hunting expedition had taken place, what with all the makeshift barricades they made out of my furniture. There were quite a few boot prints on my kitchen counter. ON MY KITCHEN COUNTER. Three grown men, professional animal remover people, with animal remover weapon thingies, and they retreated to higher territory from a three-pound dog.

I gotta say, tiny little Cujo Chihuahua, I’m a little bit impressed.

I called the shelter later to find out what happened to tiny little Cujo Chihuahua, and they told me the owners had been called and were on their way to get him. They did say that the owners didn’t seem to thrilled to have received the call, leading me to wonder if tiny little Cujo Chihuahua was actually “lost” or um ... sightseeing against his own free will.

I will say for certain, though, that my dog rescuing days may have come to an end. Ducks, on the other hand, I got those dudes covered.

Have you ever had a small dog who thinks he's a big dog? Or has one of those tiny little terrors ever sent you running for safety? Let us know in the comments!

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About the author: Eden Strong is a quirky young woman with a love for most animals with fur. She readily admits to living her life completely devoid of most social graces and so far she's still alive. More of her crazy antics can be read on her blog, It Is Not My Shame to Bear

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