Ok, this post is a
little behind the times now, but it still needs to get out there because it’s
the perfect combination of awful and hilarious for a travel blog.
I was feeling pretty
low when I started writing it, which is to say that I was convinced that I was la peor persona del mundo and that
judgment would soon rain down and strike me dead.
I’m past the
theatrics now, but I still feel a little guilty…
Why?
Well, you remember
the perrito gordito, I hope. In case
you’ve forgotten, he’s a Chihuahua, and we don’t get along. (My host mom says
he loves me, but I disagree.) Well, a few weeks ago, he was out for a walk in
the park, as is his habit, when he fell…and broke his femur.
How does a Chihuahua,
a whopping four inches off the ground in the first place, manage to do this
kind of damage? Well, that’s an excellent question, and I have no idea. I could
ask my host mom to explain the situation, but he’s like her fourth child and
the situation is still too distressing for her.
Believe it or not, I
was actually quite distressed when I found out, too. I mean, after complaining
about the little terror for a month, he falls and becomes critically injured –
in the most ridiculous way possible!
Naturally, I felt as
though I’d jinxed the little fellow and felt horridly guilty for all the times
I’d complained about him barking when I came home. WHAT IF HE DIED?
Fortunately, he did
not, but when he came home from the vet I was pretty certain he’d had the leg
amputated. I couldn’t ask, of course, but there was a bundle of bandages where
one leg should have been, and…that seemed pretty telling.
Good thing we can
nearly never trust my instincts! A few days later he had a proper surgery and
had the leg set. And I wanted to add a picture of Blas in his giant blue cast,
but there was never an opportune moment to take one. So….use your imaginations.
If the picture you come up with is hilarious and kind of adorable, you’re on
the right track.
We are now
approaching the part of the story where I am punished for finding humor in the
situation.
So I went to the park
to run, and I was just jogging along, making my final lap, when WHAM. I went
down. See, I’d forgotten that I actually have valid reasons for not running
when I’d decided to “run more” for Lent. Like the fact that I simply don’t have
the coordination to run, even though it’s supposed to a really natural human
action. But I’m digressing. I then had to return to the house and tell my host
mom that I fell down and was bleeding, and she proceeded to attack me with hydrogen
peroxide and iodine, and then I didn’t leave the house for the rest of the
weekend because my hands were so torn up that I couldn’t even wash my hair.
It sucked, but I wasn’t
that surprised. I mean, I’d kind been expecting to be hit by a bus, so some
superficial wounds were kind of a relief.
It also made me feel
like part of the family, as my host mom has been suffering from knee and foot
problems since I arrived, and the dog now has a giant cast. We’re just a
whimsically (or pathetically) wounded little family…
But I’m all better
now. And my hair is clean. I did get to enjoy several days of horrified
gasps/stares on the train/exclamations of concern, to which I could wail “I’m
dying!”
I'm just going to reiterate that THE DOG FELL DOWN AND BROKE HIS LEG. Guys, that's not normal. I mean, I fall when running, but, like, that happens to people sometimes on loose dirt and gravel. Dogs even have four legs on which to balance. How did this happen?!?!?!?!
Ok, I'm done now.
