Have you ever been in a fistfight? Me neither. But I came close this summer. And I wasn't even mad. I just knew when the scrawny little French woman picked up my daughter's dog, I would fight her. And I would win or die trying.
A little backstory. This summer while on a work assignment and living in a gorgeous Paris apartment apartment with her adorable husband (all the superlatives are just to emphasize that depression doesn't have to be situational-based), my daughter's depression hit her hard.
She has an emotional support dog, Billie, who had a long-running feud with the neighbor's cat. This beautiful creature liked to sit outside Billie's window and stare up at her (which made Billie nutso.) Billie had a lot of other things going on. Like, she wasn't used to never being let off leash, but in the heart of Paris, she didn't have many options. So, Billie would sit at the window and noisily cry for extended periods of time.
One night just before going to bed, I took Billie down to the courtyard. Several apartments (and one cat) share this small open space. I had looked for the cat before taking Billie downstairs, but hadn't seen it hiding in the bushes.
But Billie had seen it. Howling, she tore away from me.
While trying to capture Billie, a tiny, angry French woman accosted me. Yelled at me. I laughed at her because it seemed so ridiculous to scream at someone who can't understand you.
To be fair, Billie was making A LOT of noise. Much more noise than this woman.
I had propped the door open to my daughter's stairwell because I hadn't brought a key. The woman must have realized this because she removed my prop and tried to lock me out of the building.
I shoved my way in.
She tried to push me out the door. When that was unsuccessful, she picked up Billie.
And it was at that moment, I knew, if I had to, I would fight for the dog.
As I said previously, I wasn't even mad, but I couldn't let this woman take the dog and disappear into some unknown apartment and maybe even call animal control. I wrestled Billie out of her arms and, after gaping at me, SHE TURNED AND RAN AWAY.
I can write about this now and smile, because here I am, a sixty-something grandma, and this French woman probably twenty years younger than me ran away because she was scared of what I would do to her.
This was one of those "WHO AM I?" moments. I've never been in a fight before. I rarely raise my voice. I felt physically sick. I was worried, not so much for myself, but for my daughter who would have to live in this complex with the cat and the woman long after I had returned home.
The next morning, I resolved to buy the woman a small token and apologize, but my daughter convinced me this woman did not deserve an apology.
I never saw the woman again, but my daughter did and she said that the woman has been friendlier since the incident.
What I learned: that we can never be quite sure how we'll respond in a situation until we're in the heat of it.
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