Year of the face-bite

Anyone who knows me well knows that I cannot resist petting every single dog that crosses my path. This penchant of mine is typically accompanied by stern lectures from Achebeyo as she tries to keep her adolescent adult companion out of most avoidable mischief. Sometimes she succeeds, and sometimes the mutual failure is etched into my body somewhere.

I rang in 2012 with a trip to the emergency room on New Year’s day, complete with multiple injections in various locations around my body. One of the two nurses who attended to me explained that I could brag to my friends that I was stripped and handled by two nurses at the same time. In this instance, it would be like bragging about playing naked with two needle-wielding linebackers. Not really a badge of honor, ma’am.

We had decided to spend the early morning of New Year’s day walking loops around our 1-mile subdivision to start the year off with non-couch-bound activities. As we passed a small woman who was having her arm dislocated by three leashed dogs, I called out asking if it would be okay to come across the street to pet them. I mistook her uncomprehending reply of “okay” to mean “come pet these barely manageable maniacs”, instead of “I no understand, okay”. Once the dogs got within lunging range, one of them made a grab at my face, and one snapped at my hand. The lady dashed off one way and we made our way back home to assess the damage…without getting any information at all from the Face-Bite Fun Family. This would prove to be a fairly stupid way to start the new year.

We got to the emergency room, a place I avoid like the…well, the plague. No offense, but hospital patients wig me out. All that potential goo and grunge in such close proximity to me makes me want to demand the Silkwood treatment. And don’t skimp on the wire-brush scrubbing. I managed to keep my panic internalized, and made it into the interrogation room, where I tried to minimize my own stupidity in not getting contact info from my assailant’s walker. “Sir, you mean to tell me you were bitten by a dog on a leash in a closed subdivision and didn’t bother to ask for any information at all?” “Well, if you’re looking to make me feel more stupid than I am or look…”

The doctor took down what information I had and sent me off to the stab-team nurses. The ones in my hip were a bit pinchy, but not terribly bad. At least all of the horror stories I endured as a child about 7200 shots in the stomach were finally put to rest. I had to go back for about 6-8 weeks for one single shot each time before I was deemed not rabid. Not a terribly bad excuse to get out of work for a few hours each week, but one I’d probably avoid in the future. In fact, if I could start off this coming new year with less biting of my face (or anywhere I’ve got cells), I’ll consider it a vast improvement on this year.

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2 Comments on “Year of the face-bite”

  1. Narf Says:

    Ren, Ren, Ren!! When will you learn!! BITE THEM BACK!! 😀

  2. Mr Pig Says:

    You need to flee this penchant for playing kissyface with toothy animals 😉 After reading your musings for some time now I’ve come to one single immutable conclusion… You should listen to Achebeyo more carefully.


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