||[Jan. 28th, 2009|08:34 am]
F-ing ice. Really. I'd call it a face plant last night, when I went out to walk the dog, but really it was a hand/wrist plant. Thank goodness, once again, for the ability to fall like a rag doll, or I probably would have broken it. |
And then this morning -- see I was smaat last night and salted my steps. (Yes, Kosher salt. What can I say, I kept putting the boxes in different places in the pantry, think I was out of it, and then buy more at Costco.) So, the steps were pretty okay (because as a greenie, I only used a little) and the side walk and yard crunchy, which was going to prove difficult for Percy, but I tromped up and down the sidewalk to break it up for him.
If you want to see the definition of design flaw, watch a greyhound try to walk on crusted snow. Their toes are long and very separated. Which makes them great runners on dry ground. On crusty snow, they actually try to grip with their toes, as if they were fingers -- if they don't break through, their toes just look so pathetic, all splayed, curled, trying to grip, the nails skidding backwards.
But I solved that problem for Percy -- stomping around like a deranged eight year old (is that redundant?) to break up the crust at least.
He was not happy and not walking well, but I thought, if I can at least get him out to the road....
If you've been out there, you probably have guessed at the flaw in my reasoning. But hey, it was early, it was dark and the trucks had been treating the roads all night long.
We each took two steps onto the ice skating rink that was the road and we were down. I was so busy congratulating myself for not knocking my head on the curb, that for a minute I didn't notice that not only had Percy gone down...but was headed into the storm drain, sliding on his side across the ice away from me.
Which my stupid brain immediately tried to stop by pulling back on the leash, which slowed the slide, but, as greyhound collars are essentially fancy humane choke collars, pulling him out by the collar, well, hey, good news is, I got him back. Bad news, I strangled him. There he was, hind legs down the slot, whoops, like a big dog going down a giant mail slot.
Thank goodness for big greyhound butts. Poor goober. Pulling him out was ugly, as I had no traction, he had no traction, and there was some limb flailing on both our parts. I got him up and back on the yard and it still took us a little while to get his pins back underneath him.
Oh, yeah, he still hadn't done any of the things we'd gone out there to do. Which took a bit of convincing. Him sliding, or teetering, and pulling back to go into the house...sigh. Luckily, I had traction, so my heart breaking at how hard it was for him and hating making him continue to walk around the yard, all shaky and scared, I held on until each of the prizes was produced and then pretty much carried him back inside.
Luckily, he's a greyhound, so a couple of biscuits and a bowl of chicken and beef and he'd recovered. Me, I'm sitting here at my desk, listening to the orchestra of twinges, aches and pains tune up.
Today Naproxen will be my friend.