June 8, 2013. 11:45pm.
I got into my knitting tonight. I mostly finished a present for one of the many friends who are currently incubating babies. I still need to add ears and weave in the strings. I then started an uber fun skirt, but am used to working with charts and this one has a written out pattern that I find confusing. I was playing many different TV episodes trying to find something that satisfied. Dr. Who was getting old (please don't kill me you Dr. Who fanatics). I tried an episode of Twin Peaks and will consider continuing it on a sporadic basis. I really wanted NCIS, but Netflix doesn't have it, so I went with the first season of Bones.
Now, I have to say, earlier in the day I took the dogs separately for their walks. Both times I was out with the psychotic Shiba Inu, Pico, I would throw the golf ball far and jog so that his little charging body would not pull my shoulder out of socket when his leash didn't let him run any farther. We had a couple of nice sprints. The other dog, Sam, Sweet Sam, if you will, isn't as spry as she used to be and takes her time. Jogging would not make her happy at all. So, we leisurely stroll, Sam and I.
Tonight, I don't know what happened, how it happened, but it happened fast. Sam was going one way, Pico another and the next thing I knew there was an all-out dog war in the family room. I knew if I put my hand in there, then I was going to get injured, but I couldn't let Sam be attacked by that little bastard who can't even go to the bathroom outside, so I stepped in.
I should let you know that my dad has a temper. This is something that he and I have been working on together for years, him learning how to control it with me and my not being so sensitive to it. I've seen Dad get in Pico's face. Once when I was sick and Pico wouldn't stop jumping on me, I thought Dad was going to put the dog through the ceiling or a window. Tonight, I was ready to throw Pico into the fireplace.
I dropped my knitting, stepped into the fight. As I summoned the will to throw my body into the fray, I saw an image of my wrist and immediately understood that my wrist was going to be mauled. I'm not sure how I did it, but I flung Pico out of the fight. I had him over on his bed in front of the fireplace, yelling in face, like my father would, "I am alpha! I am the alpah! You don't get to hurt Sam!" I knew it didn't matter what I was yelling, my anxiety and adrenaline were up and my wrist was beginning to hurt already.
I looked over at Sam. She wasn't putting her front right paw on the ground and her ears were flat to her head. Which made me want to yell at Pico even more. I checked Sam for blood or serious injuries. Finding none, I took a deep breath and looked down at my now throbbing wrist, with the knowledge that lots of blood could be possible.
I have a deep gouge on the right hand side of my left wrist. Thankfully he hit what I term, "No man's land." A spot one can root around for hours and never find a vein. Only, it's not far from one. I would say about a centimeter, a centimeter from gushing blood all over the place.
As it is, blood did get on the plaid I was wearing, but it's come out. No one will see it but me and that's because I know where to look.
What is most important here is that Pico already has no recollection of the event. Sammy does. She's up here with me and was even on my bed for a little while. I was hopeful that she would stay on the bed and the two of us could curl up together. Only she's back on the floor, which is fine; I want her comfortable. She did just get assaulted in her own family room. But Pico, I just took him out for his last pee and he has no memory of any of it. He was flying all over the yard, into the flower beds looking for hop-toads to torment. I wish more than golfballs, hop-toads and bubbles in streams of water held fascination for him. I wish that he were actually as well behaved as his adorable little body and face would belie.