However, this story is a minute speck in the annals of whatever can go wrong with plans sometimes will; as in man proposes god disposes, or the best laid plans of mice and men... I'd planned to bake some chocolate chip cookies, and do a few household things before leaving after breakfast, so the reasoning went, and would need to snap things up. We'd want to take Jackie and Jillie out for a ravine walk beforehand so they wouldn't miss their daily exercise. And we would want to return home at a reasonable time, since we're expecting our oldest son and our daughter-in-law to arrive in the early evening, from their stop-over in New Brunswick, having left Halifax yesterday.
So, first thing in the morning after getting dressed I skipped merrily and far too quickly down the stairs, Jack and Jill after me, to take them to the backyard; a morning routine. Except for the fact that my husband and I usually begin this morning ritual together; he was somewhat disposed, and I decided to carry on singly. Singly, I sloppily slipped on one of the stair treads, about three down from the top and from then on, I tumbled all the way to the bottom. Which wouldn't have been so bad, since I'm nimble enough and sufficiently physically resilient to the point where my body could take that contact without undue harm.
Trouble was, after the last step of that uncontrolled fling to the first level of the house, my head made an unavoidable cracking contact with the marble tile of the foyer. I picked myself up just as my husband had run frantically to the top of the stairs and continued on with our two puppies out the sliding doors to the backyard. Which was when I noticed how peculiarly they were behaving; neither inclined, once outdoors to fulfill their end of the ritual requiring their ends to be firmly planted toward the ground. Jackie was trembling and Jillie stood stolidly beside him.
I could feel my forehead swelling fairly quickly, knew I needed to get something cold and wet against it, but felt impelled to see them through their morning routine. I picked Jackie up to reassure him, thinking what had happened was so out of the ordinary they had been momentarily traumatized, and perhaps they were. By this time my husband had joined us outside and I went back in to get that cold wet, limp washcloth against my forehead (which my husband soon exchanged for a small plastic zipbag full of frozen peas and carrots wrapped in a washcloth).
I'm all in black, including one eye; how stylish! |
None of the veterinarian offices nearby could give us an appointment since our description didn't appear an emergency to them; no broken bones, it's Saturday and their slots were full; our own vet did, but for Sunday at half-past twelve, at which time we expect him to have fully recovered. Hours later, tail wagging, he looked more himself, though he still favoured his leg, and wasn't prepared to leap about as is normal for him, to say the very least. As for that trip to the picturesque small town; forget it. No ravine walk today either, since he's in no shape to exercise himself.
Damn.
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