Yesterday I witnessed my dog slipping on the snow. Other than her love for her mom (me) and salmon skin, she has cannot get enough of the water and snow. The water disappointed her first, during her second trip ever to the ocean. She had launched herself onto the beach in a frenzy, eyeing the water excitedly and and walked forward to gently dip her paws in. She’s not an idiot, obviously the tide was doing something she was not familiar with, but after a little bit of aggressive coaxing my boyfriend and we got my dog in up to her collar. This was fine for less than five seconds before the first wave hit her.
For seven years the snow has also been her friend. Despite my sincere attempts to put her in warmer climates, hoping that she’ll eventually get used to the heat, there has been no denying the weird animal happiness that takes place when she sees snow. Even in the most miserable of blizzards, with her mom muttering expletives underneath my breath, she still leaps around with the energy of a puppy, stuffing her snout in any pile of flakes she passes.
Yesterday, after a quick jaunt in the snow, she fell. It was fast, she got up and she was fine. You could tell she felt betrayed though.
I was concerned at first with the intensity that she fell but there was no limping, and the pouting stopped as soon as we returned to the apartment. Other than dismemberment there is truly nothing a decent sized dog treat can’t fix. Shortly thereafter, I gathered up my things to go to work. The moment that I zipped up my winter coat a colleague called. Against my better judgement, and my boyfriend’s wise advice that I warm my car up earlier than later, I answered the phone. The conversation was important, also incredibly long, and after I noticed we’d hit the fifteen minute mark I stopped taking notes and headed out the door. As I stepped onto the sidewalk I apologized for the gentleman for having to go and hung up on him without waiting to hear a response. The time popped up on my phone- 9:20am. It usually took me forty minutes for get to my office on a good day, and this meant I was fucked. I broke into a sprint.
Then, with the ice filled street spinning around me I fell, hard, ironically at the exact same spot my dog did. Unlike my dog though I didn’t jump up and look confused. Instead I remained twisted on the ground. My purse, from what I could see laid remarkably intact, three feet away and still looking fly. Somehow the four hundred dollar investment I had been hesitant to make, in the form of a Kate Spade accessory I might add, had also managed to protect my oversized iPad. This was obviously a display of good luck. My purse had made a sacrifice for my twisted body, and in my haze I took this as some sort of display of good karma. I had earned this.
I would’ve readily patted myself on the back if I hadn’t had my arm pinned underneath my torso and caressing the pavement. “Ohhh.” I said toward the purse, which to a passerby probably would’ve been interpreted into an “Ow.” For better or for worse though, no one was around. I would have had no problem welcoming some sympathy, or at least a hand up, but I also happened to live next to a number of young families with children. Odds were that if anyone would’ve been nearby the observers of my dramatic fall would have been under the age of ten, and not immune to a thirty something flinging expletives into the ozone.
Unlike my dog during when I hit the ground, I was wearing clothes. My pants, as well as my tights, ripped open all too easily in my graceful tumble. This was bad enough, they were my favorite pants, but I also hadn’t had the chance to do any laundry for two weeks, presenting yet another layer to my problem. It wasn’t even until I gathered my purse and found my car keys next to the ditch that I noticed my leg was bleeding.
Did I mention I was running late? For a split second, in the middle of the road, I turned to look at my apartment building. Did I go back in and change? Did I have any BandAids? Was I about to use a “Get out of Jail Free” card when it would be better utilized playing hooky and going to a bar on a day when I wasn’t actually injured?
I turned back toward my car. I would not be sacrificing a fake sick day for this. I limped defiantly, toward my car and buckled myself in with authority. Then, I looked down at my knee. It seemed to be bleeding quite a bit. I usually had an array of napkins easily available in my pockets or in my passenger seat. Sometimes they were used, sometimes they were not. Ironically the week before my boyfriend had found a napkin that wasn’t his own in his pocket, unarguably used and I had made a mental note to discard all my paper products.
“Fine,” I had said to him. “I’ll get rid of the napkins.” He had no way of proving they were mine, anyway. I was doing us both a favor.
Luckily when I fell I still had a some Dunkin Donuts trash wedged between my seat and the console I had failed to see. “Thank God,” I thought outloud. “This is what they must do in emergency situations.”
Update- I am now properly bandaged and grossly bruised. For the first time I understand the need for lawyers who specialize in situations like “slip and falls.” My dog may have enjoyed the winter, she may still, I haven’t asked her, but as we nurse our wounds together I will be mentally prepping her once again for a move to a warmer climate.