The Dog Bite

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: No.
Brain: Guesssssssssssssssss....
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!
Me: .....
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!!
Me: Sigh..
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.