There really isn't any cutsy title I can give my entry because in fact I did get bit by a fucking dog.
Thursday I was fretting about having a good day. My day turned out just fine for the most part. Adrian was out doing car stuff at our friend's house, so when I got home I decided to go for a run. Weather was mild and very fun friendly. I was trucking my butt at a nice pace until I got to this one particular street.
There was the dog, a barrel-chested black lab mix, sitting in his front yard. Apparently his numb-nuts owners can't seem to keep the gate to their backyard shut. On more than one occaision, I had seen him sitting in the front yard while I jogged by and the worst he'd ever done was bark at me and run around like a 'tard.
Instead of being menacing from the yard as he had in the past, the dog decided to come after me from behind and bite the crap out of my calf. I was stunned more than frightened, and I wheeled around and started shouting for the dog to get back in his yard. He scurried back, and I went on my merry way.
It wasn't for another few blocks that I discovered that the dog had really taken a serious chunk out of me, even though I was wearing running tights.
Fuck if I was going to let some dog ruin my run. I've got four pounds to lose.
I finished my run, got home, called animal protection (Which is a whole other rant in and of itself. Do you know I can find women and minority owned businesses in the yellow pages faster than I could the non-emergency police number?), and had visit from a friendly, slightly odd police officer.
Practicing restraint, I will not share with you the pictures of that fresh wound that I took that night. In fact, it looks worse now all bruised and swollen.
So, dog's up to date on his rabies. I got a tetnus shot anyway and became my doctor's first dog bite patient ever. Now I have these horrendous bruises and puncture wounds on my leg, and I feel like someone's punched me in the arm with an ice pick.
File this one under "Shit that happens only to Amanda" along with the time I tore up my leg running and passed out in someone's front lawn or when I fell down a flight of stairs in our house right before a dinner party.
For the next week I'm going to be milking this for all it's worth. I'm blaming everything on the fact that I got bit by a dog.
When I weigh myself tomorrow and find that not only have I not lost the four extra pounds but gained more, I will repeat my new mantra, "I got bit by a dog."
This whole victim thing might just work out for me.