I was lying in bed last night, and my brain wouldn't shut up.
The conversation went something like this:
Me: Ahhh... just find a comfortable position and sleeeeeeep...
Brain: Hey! Guess what?!
Me: Ugh. Noooo..
Brain: I'm not tired! Yay!
Me: Well, the rest of me is. So, shut up and turn off.
Brain: We should totally get up and fill in those egregious holes in your novel!
Brain: You haven't played Diablo in, like, 2 days!
Me: It'll still be there in the morning.
Brain: I just came up with the best blog idea!!
Brain: No, really! You're going to really like it.
Me: Fine. What is it?
Brain: SCARS! No, listen. It'll be epic!
Me: Actually, that's not half bad.
And that is the story of how my tired body gave into my insane brain. I'm going to write, installment-wise, about my scars. Again.
I don't remember how old I was when this experience occurred. The fogginess puts it somewhere in my 7 to 10 years.
I was the Animal Queen. Either my family named me that or I wished they had and I called myself that in my head.
I devoured everything I could read, watch, hear, experience, observe about animals. When I wasn't pretending to be various animals (funny and embarrassing story, that), I was informing everyone around me about the things I'd learned. I was the resident expert, at least in my residence.
I could identify which spiders were harmless and which were dangerous. I didn't mind picking them up in my hand (the harmless ones) and carrying them outside where they would escape the murderous intentions of my family.
So, if I wasn't afraid of a creepy spider, I certainly wasn't afraid of some old lady's cantankerous dog.
My mom was visiting a lady she knew. The reason escaped my self-involved pre-adolescent mind.
This lady had a dog, probably a terrier of some sort. One of those little dogs that my husband not-so-lovingly calls "yap dogs".
I wanted to go outside and play with it.
The lady said I could but not to pick up the dog because it hated that and would probably bite me.
I agreed, already laughing at the lady's warning. Somewhere in the mysterious depths of my mind I was thinking, "I will tame this beast and he will love me and let me carry him around because I am an expert in animals and he will sense that and everything will be magical rainbows and a chorus of animals will sing heavenly music!" Of course I felt I knew this dog better than his owner. She was a silly grown-up lady who saw her dog as a mere pet. I was the Animal Queen who saw him as the majestic diminutive little Lord of His Manor that he was.
So, I pet the dog a few times, until my anticipation of animal magicalness got the better of me and I picked him up.
I think the dog got about 4 inches off the ground before he realized that he hated me. I don't remember any kind of warning from the dog; a growl or attempt to escape. Though, I may have been hearing a chorus of heavenly animals and missed it.
The carnage may well have resulted in the dismemberment of my hand at the wrist. I think I actually saw red. Probably because I was bleeding profusely.
A trip to the emergency room left me with my hand intact and a bandage around my wrist.
I now have two scars on my right wrist, almost two inches apart, probably the exact space between that tiny canine's canines.
I'm pretty sure that event helped enforce my cat-person tendencies and my "yap-dog" aversion.
My identity as the Animal Queen, however, stayed intact.