We came home from our California vacation last night. Because it was late, we couldn’t get the dogs from the puppy camp until this morning. And this morning? Bites.
This is a good thing because Texas needs rain in the worst way. It bites because I know the dogs are going to be a mess when I pick them up. I am not disappointed. Phoebe is muddy from head to toe (which isn’t really all that high, cuz she’s a bulldog, but there is a lot of her) and Zoe is looking at me like, I told her not to play in the rain with the big dogs, but she wouldn’t listen to me. And because it’s been raining pretty much nonstop for the last week or two, the place is flooded everywhere. The walkways and paths have large puddles running across. Puddles that dogs don’t mind walking through, but people do, so the employees put a plank across one of the larger puddles to help the humans negotiate the path.
As we were walking out, the girls very excited, I was walking the plank (hey! lookit me, walkin the plank! arrrrgh) when my flip flop lost traction (as if a flip flop ever had any traction to begin with) just at the very instant the girls sighted the truck. My feet went flying out from under me and I fell right into the puddle. The deep, muddy puddle, and was dragged about 3 feet before I thought to let go of the damn leashes.
You know what? That bites. Falling down when you’re a grown up actually bites the big one. And it hurts. Let’s just say I am not 20 anymore and leave it at that.
So rather than regale you with stories of our trip through wine country, I am going to start up the heating pad and sit in the recliner. I am pretty sure the Rx for a sore back and a bruised pride is a good book, a glass of wine and a rainy day.