Suburban Hazards - A Growl in the Garage

It seemed a typical evening on my street, really. A rainy February night, the remnants of a winter storm running off of identical, antennae-free rooftops; smoke billowing from automatic gas-lit fireplace chimneys; Beemers and shiny SUV's tucked, warm and dry, inside their three-car garages.

It was my last chore of the day, the ritual of taking my seven year old golden retriever out through the garage to the side yard to "go potty" for the last time before bed. I had pulled my own personal, shiny SUV in backwards earlier that evening to unload groceries and the four big bags of dog food I had just purchased. So Andy, the golden retriever, and I squeezed behind the rear of the car to get to the side door. And that's when I heard it: A growl; a low, threatening, guttural, animal warning. My head whipped back toward the car as Andy trotted out into the wet dog run. No doubt the sound of the rain dripping from the gutters had kept him from hearing the sound. But I stood frozen, holding the door open for him, staring wide-eyed at the back of the car ...

I live in a lovely subdivision amidst rolling hills, "open space", they call it. It makes for a more beautiful atmosphere, but it doesn't come without its hazards. Every so often, wild animals ... birds, lizards, snakes, field mice, squirrels, even raccoons ... are known to find their way into garages. Usually they are harmless, frightened little creatures, lost and often trapped in our strange environment. Usually, too, they run out when a door is opened, happy to be freed. Usually, they don't growl.

But now, stories of rabid raccoons and coyotes filled my head. Crazed by disease, wild animals are known to harm pets, children, even adults when threatened. What was growling in my garage? And how was I going to get it out?

Andy finished his business and trotted back in, apparently still unaware of the intruder that had my heart pounding. I decided to let him remain unaware. He is a big dog, but imbued with more play than fight and I didn't want to see him get hurt, maybe even killed. I shooshed him quickly back into the house and I followed closely behind. But, once again, as I crossed behind my car, I heard the ominous growl.

Perhaps my fear seems silly to some of you, but you should first understand that I am a single mother with a child to protect. While others of you might call upon a husband or boyfriend to eradicate the threat, or maybe you're just made of stouter stuff than I, I am but a once spoiled suburbanite, newly thrust into the role of defender of the castle ... And I've never been fond of things that snarl.

So I debated, but I chose to involve my son. I mean, he would have to know eventually. I couldn't have him walking out into the garage and being attacked. I told him of the growl and that I thought it was coming from underneath the car or even, perhaps, inside it. He reminded me that we had left the rear of the SUV open for an hour or so earlier in the evening, and speculated that something could have gotten inside then. While I opted for addressing the problem in the morning so we would have the advantage of daylight (and because, well, I'm a wimp), my son wisely expressed his concern for the $100+ in dog food that might be lost and the damage that the creature might do to the car or the garage. So I acquiesced. Together, my brave son and I would have to face the intruder.

We shuffled through the laundry room to the garage and, ever so slowly, opened the garage door. We would have to open it wider, take several steps out, and reach to turn on the light. We argued over strategy ... "Get a flashlight", "Get a stick", "Get two sticks", "Send Andy out there", "Don't let Andy anywhere near", "Call the police!" We bumped into each other, reaching for the light switch, finally flicking it on. Nothing. So we crept closer and there, when my son neared the back of the car, came the growl again.

Back into the laundry room we both sprung. "Did you hear it?" I gasped. "I heard it," he trembled. We tried to pinpoint the rumbling snarl. Both of us were uncertain: Under the car or inside it? We strategized some more, took our weapons, and set back out into the garage.

Minutes passed as our hearts pounded in our chests and we carefully moved to different positions around the garage. At last we got the roll-up garage door open so the invader could flee, but nothing appeared. We moved around the car, searching underneath with the flashlight. I tapped on the car windows with my 15-foot-extendable-cobweb-duster- stick and, again, the creature warned me, but never came into view. I unlocked the doors with the remote key control, turning on the lights in the car so we could peer in. Still nothing. The two of us in our pajamas kept circling, tapping, pulling back and tripping all over each other. My son moved out into the driveway, quickly soaking his socks on the wet pavement, as the rain began to fall again.

We were getting nowhere. This mysterious beast seemed determined to stay hidden, only snarling at us again every few minutes in that same low, rumbling growl. Over half an hour had passed and we seemed no closer to routing it out, but we were becoming frustrated and, finally, I was becoming emboldened. This thing was, after all, on MY turf and I wasn't going to let some little creature get the better of me.

After more prodding and checking, we agreed that the growl was definitely coming from inside the car. I told my son I was going to open the car door. "No!" he yelled. "You'll get hurt!" I knew he was scared. I knew I was, too. But the time to be scared was over. Someone would have to take definitive action.

So I moved forward and quickly lifted the rear door of the vehicle, then jumped back. Nothing. Whatever it was must have moved up into the front seats. So I slipped around the side, as did my brave son. Then, finally, we moved in ... We flung the two front doors open and there it was ...

My son breathed a sigh of relief as he reached down for the creature. It began to snarl again, then stopped the moment he touched it ... His cell phone ... On vibrate ... left to whir against the car door where it was left in the pocket ... reporting every two minutes that he had a voicemail.

Yes, there are dangers, even in suburbia. Thankfully, however, I have yet to encounter them. But after this experience, I WILL be more careful in the future. I'll make sure my son brings in his cell phone.