Friday morning I (non-voluntarily and completely against my will) partook in that rite of passage all runners dread....
The dog bite.
And, yes, I was very much grateful to be running in below freezing temps, thereby putting two layers between me and the Teeth. Had I been in shorts? I would have had the additional thrill of driving myself to the ER for stitches...
nom, nom, nom...
This morning, as I laced up my running shoes, I couldn't help but feel trepidatous. Even knowing that the offending canine was in quarantine...because there's more than one dog in that yard with the hole under the fence. The leg itself is still sore...sporting a delightful, full spectrum bruise that spans most of my left thigh. That saying about getting back up on the horse? I think it's the same for dog bites and runners. I had to get back out there. And I did. I ran a slight detour around the one house though. And made up for the lost milage by sprinting the last quarter mile.
Last Friday morning? It was good to be the 5-0's wife. The very second he read the text, "freakin' cocker spaniel came under the fence and bit me", he took charge. All I had to do was give my statement to the Animal Control Officer that came by.
Because every now and then? We tough, independent types like being cared for and looked after as well.