The Dog is Trying to Kill Me

I'm typing slowly today (not that I was such a whiz before) because my entire right arm is in pain after our dog tried to kill me last week. (I should point out here that I am right-handed, and if I'd had the leash in my left-hand, this wouldn't be a problem.)

Kaylee is a 14-month-old Golden Retriever, very affectionate, enthusiastic, and way too full of energy. Last Thursday we were going to run some errands. I was walking Kaylee through the parking lot to the car when she spotted her favorite person in the world, Mike. Immediately, she dashed in his direction, yanking me along with her. What followed would have been a big hit on YouTube, had anyone been filming. I flew off my feet, into the air, and hit the wet, dirty pavement, face down, bruising my knees, & skinning my palms as I landed. The leash was jerked from my hand, and my right shoulder was felt as if it had been pulled out of the socket!

I hadn't realized there were that many people outside, but instantly there were at least 7 neighbors around me, as well as Steven & Mike, all asking if I was okay, and exclaiming over what had happened. "Did you see how she flew? I've never seen a dog do that to a grown-up before!" I heard someone say.

As I cradled my arm against my chest, and headed back inside to change my now wet & dirty clothes, I reminded Mike "Do NOT give that dog any treats!!" Because this, of course, is why she loves him more that anyone else. Mike is the maintenance guy for our apartment complex, and in his storage room, keeps bags of expensive treats for all the dogs that he hands out like candy!

All the dogs adore him.

Later that evening Steven took me to the ER, where they told me I had an Acute Shoulder Strain, gave me some exercises & pain meds. Since then, I can't lift more than I medium-sized book, and even that is sometimes painful. It's hard to write; I can't lift my hand above my head. Ouch.

If that was all, I wouldn't wonder about the dog, but I'm starting to wonder. A month ago, she pulled so hard on the leash I fell down the stairs, and then a week later, she jumped on me when I was on a stepladder, knocking me off. If I see a shadow on the shower curtain, and hear the theme song from "Psycho," I'm gonna know it's her! I think she's out to get me just because I won't let her sleep on the bed. With me out of the way, she'll have Steven all to herself, and can sleep anywhere she wants--sofa, bed, kitchen sink! Nobody will complain "That dog needs a bath!" or that she has toys all over the place.

So if I suddenly end up dead in an odd dog-related accident, you will all know it was no accident! Make sure the dog is prosecuted to the full extent of the law--and do NOT let her sleep on my bed!!

The Tale of Mr Stinky & the DMV

On my birthday a few weeks ago my Oregon ID expired, meaning that I could no longer put off getting a Washington ID if I wanted to be able to do things like pay my rent and buy alcohol. So I today I got all dolled up (meaning I was wearing a good color for me, and my hair looked fabulous!!) and headed over to the Department of Motor Vehicles--just where everyone wants to hang out on a bright, sunny Spring day, right?

I walked in and the place was packed. The wait was at least an hour. I glanced at my ticket: Number 421: then up at the numbers above the counters. Number 299. It was gonna be a long wait.

As I looked around for a seat, I couldn't help noticing the wide & weird variety of people. Seated near the front, a teenage girl holding a toddler. This young mother had just taken her first driving test, and was waiting to get her photo taken. Leaning against the wall, a guy I'd swear I saw on an episode of Law & Order: SVU a few weeks ago (and yes, he was the bad guy). Over by the window, four older men in motorcycle gear, discussing the trip they have planned for the summer. If Stanley passes the vision test, that is. A girl wearing a plaid mini-skirt and what appeared to be tattoo tights made me wonder what she'll tell her grandkids.

Of course, the oddest (or at least the smelliest) person in the room chose to sit by me. Old guy, reeking of smoke & booze. Truly, the stench coming off this man was mammoth! Remember in old cartoons, where a bad smell was represented with wavy lines rising from a character? Well Mr. Stinky had mucho wavy lines rising from his battered clothes, his long gray hair, even his shoes. I can deal with nasty smells: I was a preschool teacher for 25 years, remember? I actually felt kinda sorry for the guy; he wanted so badly to have a conversation with me. Talking is fine, and really, so is being stinky. Touching, not so much. Once he put his hand on my knee, it was time for me to go! This is when the Ladies Room comes in very handy. I hung out in there for five or ten minutes, long enough to get some of the smoke smell off of me, and emerged hoping he'd either be gone or have moved on to someone else. Mr. Stinky was nowhere to be seen, so I found a new seat, and went on with my wait.

I learned a long time ago that dealing with "mashers" (as my Grandmother called men who gave girls unwanted attention), need not always be confrontational. Sometimes it's easiest just to walk away. I can get loud if need be, and I can defend myself. Just ask Seth, whose nose I broke with my bookbag! (Sorry, Seth!)

My point is, don't get stinky with me, especially on a good hair day. I may be nice, but I may just rearrange your face. See you at the DMV.