However, I can provide you with a brief rundown, a history of recent events:
Three Dog Attacks: Yes, three. First two on the pup Brogan; third on me. The first of Brogan's dog attacks came on the heels a few days prior of a cat attack. So the pup is giving wide berth to a lot of animals we encounter on our walks. First dog attack came outside the coffee house, which seems to be the place Brogan has the most difficulty (and may explain why he's always crying when I tie him up out there; "C'mon! I'm a sitting duck here already!" is probably what he's been telling me in dog whimpering.) Anyway, some dog pounced on him while we walked past, and ended up hurting him (bruising) in the jowl.
Then, a few days ago, one of my friends invited me and Brogan over for evening cocktails and perhaps a run in the sprinkler for the pup, on accounts it was very hot. Her dog didn't take well to something Brogan did -- no telling what -- and a snarling tussle ensued, at the end of which Brogan was pinned down and bleeding from his mouth. He had a front incisor partially pulled out, which required surgery to extract completely. (My friend kindly paid for the vet bills. Thank you.)
This is a photo of the snaggle tooth left behind after the tussle with my friend's Blue Heeler. When my friend picked the pup up at the vet, she made sure the tooth came home, too.
While he was in surgery on Friday, I was taking a walk without him, doing my "stairmaster" routine up and down the Alameda ridge. As I finished (and was, of all things, approaching the coffeehouse), I encountered a dog I've seen (and been followed by) before a few times. It's a Weimaraner, about a year old and thus not full grown. It tends to be very playful and goofy, but this day, it was tied up in the front yard (not normal) and was barking at me (also not normal). I stopped in front of the fence and looked at it, made a peaceful shushing sound. It came up to the fence, right near the end of its rope, and sniffed at me. I was about two feet away from the fence and did not feel any sense of danger from this dog. Then, suddenly, it lunged its head over the fence and bit my arm. I was stunned, pulled my arm from its mouth and scurried away. In front of the house next door, I looked at where I had been bitten and was shocked to see blood bubbling forth from a hole in my flesh. I went back and stood in front of the house -- a good three or four feet from the fence -- and waited to see if the owner was home and would respond to the dog's continued barking. She eventually did come out, and we had words, none of which were satisfying to me. I think she was wasted or hungover, here at 11 in the morning. Later that day, I called animal control and made a bite report and attempted to find out if the dog does indeed have all its vaccines, as the woman claimed. I'll check back in a couple days. Animal control said they would be enforcing a quarantine on the dog and demanding paperwork from the owners, especially as they apparently have not licensed their dog. (This woman needs to take a lesson or two from my friend and at least should have showed a modicum of interest in my bleeding arm, rather than the weak, "Oh, sorry..." she managed. But, as I said, she was fucked up in some way.)
Seems I'm not in any immediate danger of going rabid, on accounts it typically takes 30 to 60 days for rabies symptoms to appear (10 days to a couple years on the extreme ends). General likelihood of rabies is very low. Despite the high population of racoons in my neighborhood, most racoons up here don't carry rabies. The greater danger is posed by bats. Of which there are also plenty of those around these parts. So ... hmmmm. Let's just hope the Weimy didn't have an encounter with any bats recently.
Right now, the main problem for me is the pain from the bruise, particularly where the bottom canines gripped but did not puncture my forearm. The location of the bite makes it a little painful for me to rest my hand in a normal position, including the one assumed in typing.
Inner Conflict about the Nature of Consciousness: This has possessed me lately. It is too complicated and too unweildy for me to write about right now. It is not really blog material. It deserves some *real* writing. Which is to say: Every time people ask me, "When are you going to write something?" and I get disgusted because I think my blog, my journals and the literally thousands of newspaper articles I've written do, in fact, count as "something," I must admit that at this point, I think I have never written anything that matters. And perhaps I should. But later, later.... And not in blog format.
Reading Something: I'm supposed to be writing a paper for Human Sexuality, but I have been sidetracked by a really magnificent and highly disturbing book loaned to me by the friend who has the dog that didn't like Brogan. It is an autobiographical piece about a really disturbing crime that happened in Oregon back in 1977, when two women sleeping in a tent at a park were run over by a truck, the driver of which subsequently got out and began hacking at them with an axe. The book -- Strange Piece of Paradise -- is both gripping in story and in its literary nature. I am impressed not just with how the author, Terri Jentz, has woven the narrative but with how vividly she brings it to life with beautifully saturated language. I read stuff like this, and I recognize the terrible shallowness that mars my own efforts with words.
The Lake, The Lake: I have spent a couple blissful days avoiding the heat and enjoying the Fourth of July up at a nearby lake that has made its home in an extinct caldera a bit south of Mt. St. Helen's. It is spring-fed, clear and cool with the occasional warm spot caused by thermal springs that issue forth from the hot underbelly of this volcanic region. Very nice. I am getting the tan I haven't had in 15 years or so. I am also enjoying floating. It is one of my favorite things to do, seeing as it is probably as close as I will ever come to being weightless in space.
The Travails of my Tailbone: Walking down a steep (and "unofficial") path at the lake on the Fourth of July, some loose soil and rocks gave way under my downhill foot, and I fell squarely on my tailbone. For those familiar with the ongoing Travails of my Tailbone -- which I broke more than 10 years ago and from which I have never enjoyed a *full* recovery because I keep falling on my ass or taking 22-hour rough and bumpy rides in the Andes -- this is not good news. I'm back with the ass donut. As I was inflating it in class the other night, one of my classmates asked, "Is that for stress?" Stress to *what*? I asked. Another classmate offered, "When I see those, I think they're for hemorrhoids." I sighed: Well, this one is all about the tailbone. ... I should be sitting on it right now, but I'm not.
To Summarize: In fact, this is basically a long-winded excuse for why I'm not writing much on the blog: It hurts my tailbone to sit at the computer; it hurts my dog-bitten arm to write at the computer; I've been totally captivated by a book; and even if these things were not in the way, my brain is not organized enough to generate many words. I need a little time for things to settle down (and stop hurting). So don't give up on me yet, Fair Readers. Check out the archives if you're bored.
This concludes my long-winded excuse.
Now, please get off your computer and go forth into the world. It's more "real" out there than it is here.
No comments:
Post a Comment