August 6, 2013

White Dog gently sniffed then kissed my rapidly swelling hand. Then she turned and growled at Nuka. "One thing is certain," I said to Steve in an effort to diffuse the situation, "she sure has her appetite back!" It was my own fault, really. I know never to place myself in any scenario where you aren't totally paying attention and do not have control..with dogs...with people...in nature...it just never comes out well.

We were having human dinner and the White Dog Army was sitting patiently waiting for their two bites from my plate. That is the rule and everyone follows politely without complaining...two bites, wait to be offered, and then do not ask for more. We have no dining room in our tiny home and usually all dine together in the living room on snack trays. Mine was between my knees; White Dogs were arrayed on each side, waiting.

Tonight was panko crusted turkey tenderloin and it was Quinn's turn for a bite. As he stretched to take the piece from my fingers, Nuka climbed over his side and lept to capture the meat...and my fingers...in her mouth. Quinn bulked which caused Another White Dog to clamp down harder ripping into my flesh. I yelled and the WDA surged forward to protect me.

I was blocked by Quinn on his side against my legs, the snack tray, and the press of the Army. My hand was still trapped in Nuka's mouth...as she began to panic she clamped down harder and backed around the side of my chair contorting my arm backward. I was REALLY in pain now and could not twist to free my hand nor turn enough to grab her body to immobilize her movement.

Now Nuka has only eight teeth, a fact we often joke about, but I discovered first hand that our girl still has the locking jaws of death. Her hold was solid and I could feel blood trickling down past my wrist. Steve was finally able to push aside and wade through the WDA to reach Nuka who was now beside herself and unable to figure out just how to get out of the mayhem. He grabbed her roughly and forced her mouth open so I could pull out my fingers.

She had broken the skin in two places and already (thanks to the blood thinners I must take) my hand was beginning to bruise. It throbbed but I was intact. Poor Nuka was crouched in the door's corner, wide-eyed, frightened, and feeling VERY alone.

I took a minute to reassure White Dog and calm the rest of the pack then I asked Steve to place Nuka in my arms. She shook with fear as he picked her up but he spoke gently and stroked her side before placing her in my arms. She looked at me, unsure, and I wrapped her tightly against me so she could feel my heartbeat.

Just as she started to relax we heard Michael's "Oh, damn!" from the kitchen. He came to the kitchen door holding my favorite mug, my Eskie Mom coffee mug. It was broken. "I was trying to help by washing your dishes. It was an accident. I swear. I was trying to do a good thing and now I ruined it." I took a deep breath and ran my hurt hand over Nuka's ears. "It is all right," I lied. "I know you were being helpful and I appreciate your kindness. Accidents happen. It is only a mug."

I set Nuka on the floor and Michael went to call his mother. "Man," White Dog said as she pressed against my leg, "I didn't even see that mega blast of momma bad luck until it was too late!" "All is well now, Little One." I whispered, "there are many suffering worse than a bruised hand and a broken coffee cup tonight."

On a different note...here is the Road Runner EVERY ONE identifies with and knows. If you think aboutit he wasn't very kind to Wile E Coyote, either.

Here is the New Mexico state bird, the original model for above. Mean fast and every bit a formidable schemer. See the similarities?