Owwww. Yes, I'm sitting to write this. And yes, it hurts. As does standing up. And walking for those first few minutes. It started, like many of these things do, with a little stupidity.
It had rained on and off most of the day. Heather Too wasn't exactly thrilled about going outside to do the necessary when wet grass tickled her tummy with every step. Too much time in Arizona, I suppose. Not to mention a bit too little lawn mowing in the yard. It was more than time for her to go out. Putting her out didn't mean she'd venture more than a foot from the door when things were this wet, and she always kept looking over her shoulder as if asking just what we thought we were doing to her.
That's when I got my stupid idea. I'd go out ahead of her. It had stopped raining for a bit after all, so why not now? Just going to the doggy door in the screen house wasn't very persuasive, so I opened it and started strolling down the ramp. You know, just a casual walk, showing her I'd actually be out with her. Her separation anxiety usually does the rest of the persuasion. I got so into my role playing that I got stupid enough to head down the wooden ramp without holding on to the rails on either side. Just to show her how easy it was to go down the ramp. Like that's a thing.
Of course you know what happened. It's an old ramp, lots of layers of slick-crap-when-wet on the top of it. Since it hadn't actually rained since we arrived, nothing tickled my brain cells to halt my version of stupid. The next thing I knew my feet flew forward, my butt landed on the ramp, and I slid another foot down the ramp that way. The second I landed I felt my tailbone take the knock.
Fortunately, my hip also took just enough of the landing as well. Steve assures me I have a nice bruise just a little off center to the tailbone. It didn't feel like a break. I'd had one of those in junior high. The pain is much sharper and there is nothing resembling any degree of comfort for months afterwards. But even the bruising takes some time to recover from. And let's not forget the usual challenge getting up from ground level.
Luckily, the ramp is where I'd last perfected getting up from the ground. I needed to go further down first. After a little rest, a little silent cursing, and some plotting of the least painful direction to roll in to accomplish my mission. I also needed to check how slippery the surface was where I'd wound up and where, since it was, I needed to move to in order to ensure safely standing.
This took about 5 minutes. During that time I observed what wasn't happening. My beloved dog was not coming down the ramp behind me. Not to comfort her mistress-in-pain. Not to head out into the grass to do her thing. Not even to get close to me for some possible patting and hugging. Not even when I called her.
I gave up on her and started, finally, rolling and sliding into position. That's when she decided to come join me. Each of the next five moves were interrupted by her being exactly in the way of where I needed to move a part of me. I wound up gently - though exasperatedly - shoving her away each time so I could finally stand up again. She finally went back to the top of the ramp, apparently guessing just where I was heading and not willing to be left behind - this time.
My shoes are filthy. Luckily they are the ones I wear out in the yard. And my shorts look just as bad, but over a larger area. I just pulled them out of the clean laundry for this event. No skin lost, no tears in fabric, and a brush will make the shoes (more) presentable. But owwww. And owww. And even more owww.
At least there were no puddles in the house the next morning when she finally, tentatively, headed out in search of drier grass. Maybe that's hero enough?
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