Living One-Handed Bites.

It's going to take me forever to punch out this post with just my right hand.

I was (again) wounded in a valiant attempt to save our poodle's life.

He was under attack (again) from Rosie, the one-eyed wonder.

Why she had her panties in a wad and erupted into attack mode, I still have no idea. Normally she and Jean Paul (the poodle) are inseparable.

Apes had gone to work and I'd stopped pretending like I was going to get up "in just a second."

Far as I knew, the three of us (me, poodle and Rosie) were ASLEEP in bed, all BFF-like.

Clearly, I couldn't have been more wrong.

I woke up to Hurricane Rosie morphing into Cujo. She was already on top of the poodle, who was yelping fast and furious.

I scrambled to enter the bitch fight and stuck my hand in the flying fur to grab Rosie and pull her off.

While I don't believe she meant to bite me, she sure enough did.



Two puncture wounds where her jaws of steel clamped down on my hand.

They immediately started spouting blood. Profusely.

I don't do blood, remember?

Cupping my good hand under my ruined one, I tried to capture the blood that was leaking over everything. My bedroom looked like a fucking crime scene.

The poodle was still yelping, but I knew I was seconds from passing out and not being able to help him at all.

I made it into the bathroom, grabbed a towel to apply pressure to my wounds, and laid down on the floor until I no longer felt like I was going to faint or throw up.

Took 15 minutes.

Still shaky and with a throbbing left hand, I crawled over to check on the poodle.

Fucker was fine. He and I are going to have a chat about crying wolf. Before I intervened and risked any future career as a left-hand-model, he was carrying on like death was mere seconds away.

Grumbling, I turned my attention to my blood-spattered floor.

"April ain't gonna like that our floors got bloody..."

I know her.

She won't tell me, but when she gets home tonight, she'll sneak upstairs to make sure I got all the blood up from in between the wooden floor slats.

I know her.

Like the back of my chewed up left hand.

Evening Update:

I take it back. The poodle is a pansy, but not a pansy ass. He did sustain some injury during the earlier scuffle. He pulled a muscle in his neck/back and has difficulty doing anything other than walking in circles and whimpering. As any good mommies would, we've given him muscle relaxers (from the vet...we don't part that easily with our own) and he should be turning cartwheels momentarily.