It has happened again, and this time, I thought I was done with this falling down business.
Really? (indulgent chuckle)
Not so fast, Poopwa.
A few weeks ago when it snowed so bad on February 2, I got up to take dog-and-friend out. He is a 9 month old lab puppy and along with all that lab puppiness comes a newly realized great brute strength.
I came to know this brute strength intimately one fateful day when I put on a pair of boots, strapped the leash on the dog, and opened the door, only to almost immediately be pulled off the porch and onto the stair by way of my shoulder. It happened so fast that I didn't even knew I fell.
I painfully get to my feet.
After brushing off my pride and putting it back on, we made our way around the yard on what is affectionately (ha) known as the "pooping perimeter". After Cooper finished off his business, I decided a trek down the driveway was in order to fetch our newspaper.
Coming back with the paper, however, I managed to fall right on my back in a drift. I must have looked like a turtle, fallen back on my big shell of a coat, arms and legs moving feebly, but not able to get up. Couldn't even blame it on the dog.
Fast forward to getting the mail at the post office in heels a week later. Knowing I was at great risk for falling, I paced myself with mincing little steps and I was inches away from getting in my car and driving away, and it happened again. I fell flat on my face before I knew what was happening, and it couldn't have been when no one was looking, could it?
I was asked by two different people who watched me fall if I was ok. I could have had a broken leg and I would have dragged myself into the car and driven however many miles I needed to before I would have stopped to check the injury and staunch the bleeding.
It took a week to get over how badly it all hurt.
Today, I took the dog out on his leash and we made it into the backyard with no problem. Suddenly he spied a squirrel, and swiftly came around behind me running at a full gallop and before I could say "this is gonna hurt" I was flat on my back in the mud. Curiously the first thing I thought was "Lord I hope no one saw that" and the second was "how's my hair?"
I chained him to the stake so that I could stomp angrily up to the house and go into the bathroom to change my muddy wet pants.
Looking out into the back yard, though, I didn't see the dog chained and was terrified that he took off out of the yard, breaking the chain somehow. He's done it before.
My husband accompanied me this time outside to help me look for the dog, but Cooper was still in the yard. (He actually did break the chain.)
As we walked into the back yard, I grabbed our new corded stake out tie to put it on the stake so that he could have 30 feet to maneuver instead of 10.
He seemed to adjust to the new weight of the tie out pretty well, so my husband grabbed a softball and lobbed it gently about 20 feet away.
"Get the ball, Cooper." he happily yelled.
Cooper took off like a shot after the ball. Looking down, I realize my foot is smack dab in the middle of a loop of chain, and as I am processing this alarming bit of information, the dog has pulled out enough lead that the wire burns itself around the side of my ankle and ONCE AGAIN, twice in one day, I'm on my back, mirroring an episode of Deadliest Catch where the guys catch their legs in the throw ropes of the lobster cages as they're tossing them overboard.
Except this time I'm hurt, embarrassed to the point of tears, and do my best impression of a 5 year old as I actually burst into tears and run to the back door.
Lord, I hope no one saw that.