I’ve recently become injured by way of stupidity. Long story longer, I was lifting some heavy weights, got excessively macho one day, went back the next day for another round of lifting. I drove home in minor pain, thinking that some good stretching would help solve this dilemma. I was wrong. I hobbled to the bedroom and collapsed on the carpet, my back devolving into what was later described as a “bulging disc” and a “pinched nerve” condition. These declarations were made after one chiropractic visit, some drugs, one ER visit, an MRI and some more, better drugs.
In all my life, through broken bones, some burning of the earlobes and skin, nasal laser surgery and a chance encounter with a cyst in my chest cavity, I’ve never experienced pain like that which I felt curled up on the floor, unable to move at all. In between high pitched screams and thoughts of “this is what dying feels like”, I was left on the section of carpet that, at one time, the dog decided to urinate upon. I thought we’d done a thorough and true cleanup of the carpet, which we were planning on replacing this month anyways. Again, I was wrong. Nose down in the ghost of piss, I was going beyond humiliated pain. My children were witnessing tears rolling down my cheeks, muffled choking noises as I rolled like an upside down tortoise, begging for mercy. Scared and scarred, they chose to leave the room as I howled. Finally, I crept up onto all fours, thinking I was alone in my state. Wrong.
MoJay, our illustrious Boxer who bears an uncanny resemblance to Jonathan Winters, had been observing this whole scenario. Head cocked, he looked at me as if to say “man, that is the worst impression of Charlie Sheen going through a drug withdrawal I’ve ever seen, and I watch alot of daytime television.” The look also indicated he wasn’t really sure who I was, even though we’ve lived together for well over a year. There was only one way to find out. So, as I wheezed out choking breaths, on all fours, he decided to drive his nose into the back of my pants to verify, sending me down on my elbows with another round of screeching.
“It’s me, dammit, MoJay! You worthless, no good, blind as a bat, piece of…… DAMMIT! (sobs)”.
He didn’t seem convinced. Trotting off, the arrogant bastard went to find someone else in the house to lavish affection upon him, and I began the slow crawl on my forearms toward the bathroom. And then I hear the clicking on the wood floor. He was back.
And he wanted to check, again.
There is nothing quite as degrading as having a dog make sport out of sniffing your ass, while you’re helpless to defend yourself, cursing and crying all at once. The deep underlying fear was that, if this little game ceased to amuse him, perhaps he’d jump it up a notch and try to assert dominance. Who does that to a broken, partially disabled bastard like me?
My dog does.
Fearing non-consensual aggravated canine sexual assault made me temporarily forget the crippling pain for half a second. I careened onto my back and bellowed even louder as the pain set in.
He wagged his nub of a tail, a twinkle in his eye, relishing my fear.