Battle Scars

Last night I watched the Kansas City Royals whip the Baltimore Orioles to go up 2-0 in their best of seven series. At roughly the same time that this was happening, the two SEC teams from the state of Mississippi were busy beating the snot out of their opponents, causing me to wonder what could possibly be next. Are the Cleveland Browns about to embark on a ten game winning streak?

While all of this was happening, Lucy and I were furiously engaged in a game we like to call, “Find Daddy’s Face,” whereby I lay on the floor face down trying to cover my entire head with my arms while Lucy searches for a weakness in my defenses with her probing wet nose and powerful paws. Molly was especially gifted at this game, and Lucy is equally enthusiastic, and never fails to burst through and end the game in a flurry of wild puppy kisses to the face. Only, somehow along the way one of her ginormous paws happened to slice across one of my ears. Caught up in the game, I ignored the brief but searing pain. It was only ten minutes later that I sensed something warm on that ear and asked Pam to inspect the damage. Only then did I notice the blood stains on the shoulder of my shirt. Lucy’s razor-sharp claws had inadvertently sliced a thin line down from the top of the ear down close to the lobe and it was bleeding like crazy.

This wound is just the latest in a series of gashes, cuts and bruises administered to me by my wildly enthusiastic puppy. The back of my hands are littered with teeth and claw marks, my right forearm looks like a drug-addicts worst nightmare. In other words, it’s awesome!

What’s the point of having a dog if you can’t get down on the floor and wrestle? Of course, Pam thinks it’s ridiculous and that we “play too hard!” What do women know about such things? Nothing, that’s what.