It was the little dog’s fault. If the mutt hadn’t excitement pee’d on the carpet when I came home from Mexico, my wife wouldn’t have insisted that we place the dog gate in the entrance to the master bathroom to contain the little shit in a tiled area, and the accident would never have happened.
But as it was, sometime around two o’clock this morning I heard a thump, scream, and a thud. I jumped out of bed to find the Nordic Warrior Queen lying on the floor, having tripped over the dog gate and crashed to the floor when she got up to pee.
This morning, she couldn’t walk. We went to Urgent Care, had several hundred dollars worth of x-rays, and found she’d cracked a bone spur in her left foot. I didn’t even know she’d had a bone spur, and now she’d gone off and broken it. We paid the fifty bucks for the copay, went to rent some crutches, got some groceries, picked up pain killers, took her home and installed her on the couch so she could bark out orders at everyone, complain that she couldn’t clean the house, and think of things for me to do.
But while we were waiting for the prescription, she got to drive around the grocery store in one of those little battery-powered carts you see the old farts cruising around in. I learned that they go beep…beep…beep when placed in reverse, which seemed funny at the time, and they also stop on a dime, so she has a little whiplash now to go with her busted foot.
But the good news is that the doctor instructed her to keep her feet elevated, a task with which I will gladly assist.