Bitten

A couple of weeks ago, I was walking the cat when I noticed a large Rottweiler being walked by a small boy. The dog spotted the cat and, making a menacing grimace, started towards us. The five year old was smaller than the dog and could not hold him, so was being pulled along. I yelled towards the campsite where the dog’s owners were to control their dog. As it neared, it sped up. I then yelled, quite loudly, “Control your fucking dog!”. The owner was doing the slow trot over as the dog was right in front of me. By that time, I had picked up Shithead with my left hand. I had turned my right side towards the dog to help shield the cat, now in the crook of my left arm. I kicked the dog in the face as he was going for my right hand, which I had somehow stupidly thought would make him stop. He bit my ankle and nipped my right hand. The owner had made his way over, finally, and had the dog’s leash.

He was very mad at me for swearing at his child. I told him that I was swearing at him and that his dog bit me. He denied the bite and returned to his camp. I meanwhile phoned my manager and she then called the SB sheriff, who regularly patrols the canyon and happened to be in the neighborhood.

Ankle injury (another good use of cell phone cameras):

going to need a new sock

going to need a new sock

The sheriff came by, took both our stories separately, examined my ankle and hand, then tossed the campers over to the next campground. Animal Control was notified but nobody could respond until the next morning. The owner was told not to leave town until his dog was checked out by Animal Control. He was travelling from Washington State to Phoenix, so, of course, he booked early the next morning.

Anyway, I seemed OK after the attack, except for the adrenalin rush (which I actually like). But about an hour later, my right hand ring finger was swollen and numb. I drove to the ER where I was administered a tetanus shot, the finger and ankle were wrapped and I was given a prescription for antibiotics.

After a couple of days, the redness and swelling started to reduce and after four days, it was back to normal. So I got that going for me.

But I did miss a great opportunity for the application of one of two jokes that I have been harboring for years. When the doctor was examining my hand, I should have said “Will I be able to play the piano when it heals?” He would, of course, being the perfect straight man, have replied to the affirmative. At which point I would say “Really? I never could before!”.

The second joke that I’m dying to use is to have to check the pulse of some unconscious fellow and say “Either he’s dead or my watch has stopped.” I can’t decide if it would be funnier if he really was dead or not…

Here’s a photo of local landscape (not using a cell phone camera):
HWY 110

This fall, I was set to work with Amazon in their Fort Worth location. They have twelve campgrounds contracted out and I figured it would be easy to get a site. But I waited too long. There are only three that are 8-10 miles away and they were booked and weren’t even taking any more waiting list names. All I could get was a reservation at a place over 30 miles away. That’s a 45 minute commute! Each way! There’s no way I’m putting myself through that torture. So I got a transfer back to Campbellsville KY, where I worked for 2 months last fall. Even though Campbellsville is 740 miles farther than Ft. Worth, I’ll put over 2000 fewer miles on total because of the commuting.

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