¡Estoy muriendo!

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.