Sometimes I write stuff for people who pay me. Sometimes they read my stuff and they’re like, “This is great! Here’s your five dollars!” Other times they read my stuff and they’re like, “Yeah…no.”
Here’s one of the latter (with added pictures)…
Opportunity Knocked (My Tooth Out)
I was almost killed by a dog this morning. “A pit bull?” you ask. Nope. “A Doberman? Surely a Doberman,” you guess. No, dear readers; it was a yellow lab named Cee Cee. And I’ll tell you this: it’s a darn good thing I’m a writer and not a public speaker, because I currently cannot open my mouth more than an inch due to the attack.
If you follow me on Facebook (and if you do, bless your heart but you need to get out more), you’ll recall that I’ve started dog walking. I’m still writing, but until I’m famous on that end, I’m improvising. And that’s why what happened this morning is so bizarre. I mean, I’m a professional here.
It started when I leashed up Cowboy (whom I walk for free since he’s mine) and set out toward 11th Street Park where I found several other dogs and their humans milling about. Cowboy ran toward the crowd and I followed, greeting my fellow dog-loving neighbors and beginning the obligatory apologies over the fact that my dog humps his peers.
While we chatted amiably, a yellow lab darted after, who knows ? A car? A candy wrapper? So forceful was her lunge that it yanked the large, plastic retractable leash handle out of Dave, her owner’s, hand, sending it flying directly toward my head.
The next thing I knew, I experienced what felt like a baseball bat whack the back of my skull and I was face down in the grass with a small crowd of people hovering over me. “OH GOD!” Dave cried.
I felt hands on my back. “ARE YOU OKAY? CHRISTINA!” the voices asked. I grasped my head, and then the tears came. Not girly little drops reserved for novels, but gasps, shrieks and cries. It was the hardest I’ve ever been hit in my life, and I grew up with an older brother who used to beat the crap out of me, so I know hits. I eventually lifted my head to see the stunned faces around me. “Oh wow, look at that jaw,” someone commented. I reached for it and winced.
Once I got situated on a park bench and determined my cranium was still intact, a sweet owner of two terriers raced to her house to retrieve her car and drive me home. While she did that, Dave continued shouting, “OH GOD!” and then stammered, “I’m gonna bake – my wife’s gonna bake you some cookies!” while other folks stood awkwardly by making sure I didn’t pass out while waiting on a ride.
Then another lady showed up who hadn’t seen the accident, rather just saw a crowd with some dogs and decided to join. I sat on the bench with my head in my hands sobbing, and then noticed Cowboy was trying to have sex with this stranger’s Rottweiler.
“S-s-sorry,” I wailed, realizing that I looked like someone better suited to be sitting on a bench in an institution day room and not 11th Street Park. She glanced at me and played it cool, like I was a totally normal person, you know, just crying on a park bench.
Back home, still crying (could NOT stop crying) I studied the mirror and realized the leash had hit the back of my head and swung around to cold-cock my jaw for good measure. Then I Googled concussions, and my husband drove me to the doctor where we learned I have a chipped tooth (bottom row, third from the middle), bruised jaw (quite painful) and no brain damage (Hallelujah!). As soon as I can open my mouth far enough to fit some fingers in, I’ll head to the dentist and have my tooth filed down.
For now I’m popping ibuprofen, waiting on Dave’s (wife’s) cookies, and recovering from the embarrassment of an incident akin to your hair stylist catching her lob on fire. So if this article is riddled with typos and rambles, cut me some slack. But not too much – we all know what happens then…
Categories: This and That