Wednesday, April 22, 2009

No pictures today. You're welcome.

So, I was being a good doggie mama. Really, I was. I was indulging Lil' Frankfurter in yet another round of his favorite game, Frank Pushes The Tennis Ball Under The Couch And Barks At A Deafening Pitch Until Mama Retrieves It.

Perhaps you've heard of it.

Last night, I even placed rolled towels around the couch, so as to prevent the tennis ball from rolling under the couch. All to no avail. Lil' Frank is really good at Frank Pushes The Tennis Ball Under The Couch And Barks At A Deafening Pitch Until Mama Retrieves It, and so no mere towels could match his mad skillz.

Today, I am evidently a little too slow to drop what I'm doing every 30 seconds to drop to all fours and fish the tennis ball out from under the couch. I'm lazy like that. Obviously.

And so when I handed the ball to Frank, he grabbed it a little too ferociously. And took a good portion of my finger along with it.

You ever have those moments where you stare at a body part (yours) and wonder, "Where's the blood? I know there's gonna be blood. Let's see how much. That's a good test of how awful this injury is. But all I can see is white light! The pain! Gah!" And then you run into the bathroom, cursing your dachshund, and stick your hand under the faucet, and see the blood, and your first reaction is "Oh, shit. I'm not old enough to handle this. I should call my mom." And then you realize that your mom lives four hours away?

You ever have those moments? No? Just me? Oh. Ok.

So, basically, sweet Lil' Frank ripped a good portion of the skin off the top third of my middle finger. I thought I was going to pass out as I stood hunched over the bathroom sink, letting the hot water run over my hand. And then?

Lil' Frank brought the tennis ball into the bathroom. And he nudged it. Carefully. Under the vanity. And then? He started to bark.

At which point I became Mommy Dearest.

In an effort not to incriminate myself to the ASPCA, I'll just state that all three of us are now hanging out on the couch. We are all still alive. Because of the blood loss (or general laziness), I've determined that we really don't need to take a walk tonight.

I've also determined that God just provides, you know? I had no idea what I was going to write about today. And then? Opportunity, like an oozing wound.


Karen Jensen said...

Oh my. It's funny because it's true. My yellow lab likes to play roll the ball under the couch and then bark at a deafening pitch until Mama retrieves it. Of course, her barking is not as high-pitched, but sometimes I think that the neighbors wonder why I'm so lazy about retrieving the ball. Sorry about your finger.

you gotta wonder said...

I have no dog, but a cat. A cat who sometimes follows me around meowing without cease for no apparent reason. Perhaps there are tennis balls under couches in my house and I just wasn't speaking the lingo.

Al my-precious-and-lucky-i've-let-him-live cat has more than once jumped up onto half my lap, then used his back claws for purchase. Eye-watering pain from the inner-thigh scratches, but no blood.

He has also occasionally nipped a finger if I'm not paying enough attention to him. Rest assured, you're not alone in trials of pet-parenthood.

I'm glad your wound did not slow down your blogging style. I'm not sure if it was the left or right hand, but all of your I's and E's seem in order.

Mend well, my friend.

Anonymous said...

That is hilarious and sad both--you poor woman. Parenting is hard work. Full of pain and joy.

I read today that your secret boyfriend DG just welcomed a baby girl into the world. I bet you'd never lose it with her if she bit your finger half off.


Sounds like the game is set in stone. I would be tempted to hide all tennis balls or get some of those really huge ones that he can't shove under anything. But then they won't fit in his mouth. Shoot...

Mine actually whined and wanted to be put in his crate for sleep. NEVER has this happened before.