It was about 3pm, and I was just about ready to head into town to spend the weekend playing with my kids before picking up my husband at the airport, when there was a firm knock on my front door.  For those of you who don't know me well, it is actually my only door at the moment, but that is beside the point.  The point is that there was a man at my door, and my first thought was, “Oh, now what has happened!”  (That actually, wasn't my first thought.  My first thought was, “Thank goodness I finished getting dressed out of my pj's a few minutes ago!)  I obviously wasn't expecting company, and I had heard a car so I thought maybe my kids were misbehaving or some uncommon occurrence such as that.

It was my neighbor, but it wasn't the kids who were in trouble, it was the purebred Golden Retriever puppy that we just had mostly trained!  She had gotten a wild hair and decided to chase his pickup, but did not come away unscathed.  “I hit your dog.” the man said.

Ceva lying in the road not moving was the first thing that flashed before my eyes, but that wasn't so.  She was just sitting under the house on her rump!  Again, you have to know my house.  Anyway, I thought, how hurt can she be?  She isn't yelping, or licking, or even…hmm…she isn't moving.  I tried calling her to get her to come to me to no avail.  Of course, the bugs are horrendous out right now, so mosquitoes are buzzing all around us, biting at our arms, neck, face, any exposed skin, and all over Ceva's nose.  She won't even try to come to me. 

I instruct the boys to retrieve her treats from the house, and I know things must be pretty grim if treats won't even entice her out.  I reach under the house and grab her collar and practically have to drag her out.  I finally manage to drag her far enough out to scoop her up, all 80 pounds of her or so, and putting one hand under her neck, and one under her hips, I struggle to stand up.  All this time, the man is squatting there next to me, telling me about how she ran out in front of him, chasing his front tire.  I merely respond that it isn't his fault, that she has to learn that she will never win against a large rapidly moving piece of metal and rubber! ( I didn't really say it quite so eloquently as that, but that is what I would have said, if I could think as well as I can later write!  LOL!) And I am thinking, “Why isn't he helping me carry her into the house?!?”

One of my young impressionable young men states that, “At least she won't die.”

To which my unthinking neighbor responds, “Well, I don't know.  It is the back leg!”

Oh, great!  I think to myself.  “What does *THAT* mean?!?!”

Oh, and of course Craig is on the other side of the country!!   It can't happen when he is home to deal with it!

Unbeknownst to me, after I have her in the house and the neighbor is gone, and while I am trying to ascertain what is wrong with her, one of my thoughtful children has extracted M, my 5 month old, from his secure rocker, and placed him on my armchair.  I glance up and see him sitting there, with three of his siblings all crowded around him trying to make him laugh (a very common occurrence lately in this household, as M has the most adorable laugh!) and think, “Oh, he is safe, they are so crowded around him, surely he won't fall.”

A minute later, I hear a loud thump and a second after that a baby starts screaming!  I look up to see the chair completely abandoned, and yes, I mean completely.  Even M has left the scene.  “****!!” I scream into the phone at my friend who is trying to help me diagnose my damaged canine.  I run over to the chair, and find M flat on his face.  I scoop him up, apologize to my very conservative Christian friend (the best kind to have, btw!) for swearing, rush into the bathroom to try to find the Arnica cream I so recently acquired, find the MelaGel first and smear it on his forehead, keep searching for the cream, finally find it hiding under a towel on the bathroom counter, smear it over the top of the MelaGel, and plunk down in my armchair to console the crying infant with his favorite comfort food (no, ladies, not chocolate): warm milk.

Well, I will have to finish this story another time (oh, yes, there is more, much more…), as my eyelids are refusing to be propped into the upright position anymore.

Oh, and the baby appears to be fine.  The verdict is still out on the dog.