This wasn't the holiday we had planned. Although we had agreed not to get gifts for each other, a roadtrip up into the Greater Phoenix area where some former in-laws of his were staying was planned. That wasn't to be, at least for me.
Kevin came home early on Wednesday when I was ready to take the dogs on a quick two-mile loop around the neighborhood. I was expecting him home by noon; instead he walked in the front door at 10:30am. I grabbed the two Flexi-leashes for the big dogs and gave Sadie the chain leash I got when I adopted Sara.
We had passed the corner lot with the killer Chihuahuas and got to the water tank when Sara bolted with her leash to jump at the pitbull mix that guards the water tank behind a chain-link fence. She's never liked that dog and that dog seems to hate all other dogs anyway. They always bark at each other during the walks.
Kevin came home early on Wednesday when I was ready to take the dogs on a quick two-mile loop around the neighborhood. I was expecting him home by noon; instead he walked in the front door at 10:30am. I grabbed the two Flexi-leashes for the big dogs and gave Sadie the chain leash I got when I adopted Sara.
We had passed the corner lot with the killer Chihuahuas and got to the water tank when Sara bolted with her leash to jump at the pitbull mix that guards the water tank behind a chain-link fence. She's never liked that dog and that dog seems to hate all other dogs anyway. They always bark at each other during the walks.
When Sara bolted, so did Sadie from the other arm's leash. I now had as much dog weight pulling me in two different directions as I weighed, and they were pulling with all they could. I pulled a neck muscle trying to restrain the dogs. I was not happy and screamed a few un-Christian expletives loud enough to embarrass Three Wise Men.
Sara in the commotion cut her right paw on the second toe. A half-inch of fur and skin had been torn off and lay on the ground below the fence. I don't know if that cut came from a cut on the chain-link fence or if the dog bit her. Either way we all returned straight home, the walk having been abruptly cancelled, and she was limping badly with her ears down.
I didn't see the blood until we were home. Some had trickled on the carpet in the living room.
Kevin wanted to cancel his trip north to tend to Sara but I made him go.
"You haven't seen Tom and Kathy in several years, go see them now!" Kevin was afraid Sara's wound would get worse and wanted to stay home to monitor the wound.
I opted to stay at home with her. I dabbed her wound with Sulfodene. I knew it would burn, and Sara yelped in pain and then hobbled to the rear bedroom to hide when I applied the liquid directly on her wound. There was no doubt Sara was suffering and I was concerned for any added infection. The cut was clean and only affected the epidermis; blooding stopped shortly after the Sulfodene was applied.
Kevin took off at 11am and I went into a bit of a slump. I had so wanted to see Phoenix again and looked forward to the warmer weather and exploring White Tank Park where his relatives are for the holidays. But I also knew that I did the right thing by staying behind to care for Sara and to make sure she wasn't stressing herself needlessly.
But what to do now, all alone? Shopping was out of the question. I played Christmas songs, even listened to the latest by Eros Ramazzotti, my favorite Italian singer. I discovered his strong, nasal voice in the mid 1990s when I was stationed in Augsburg and bought all his CDs at the time. I don't know a word of Italian but Eros sure could make me want to learn!
He has turned grey now but his voice is as angelic as it was ten years ago when "Piu Bella Cosa" and "Se Bastasse una Canzone" wormed through my ears. The songs are as beautiful now as they were when they were hits across Europe.
So I had myself a backlash...for years I had forgotten about Eros. I also played some Christmas songs, "Peace on Earth" by Crosby and Bowie and "Silent Night" by Stevie Nicks.
But I didn't want to stay home. It was now dark and I decided, based on a local newspaper article, to drive into town to see the Luminaras on the west end of town. Some of the houses were decked out to extremes, but the added lights along the sidewalk invited neighborhood walkers to stroll passed the houses.
I loaded up the dogs, grabbed the recyclable cans, and drove to the light display, but the dogs were barking too much at the passers-by and the last thing I wanted to do was ruin their Christmas Eve. Sara huddled in the back of the truck, avoiding her right paw. Sadie barked at all the children and small dogs walking the Loop of the lighted-up neighborhood.
I ended the evening watching a French Movie, "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly" about a 42-year-old editor of Elle Magazine suffering a paralyzing stroke and learning to talk and walk again with the help of a determined young speech therapist. The subject matter was a bit macabre for Christmas Eve and I turned the movie off at the 37th minute.
The winds howled outside but it didn't rain overnight. The neighborhood was quiet. Most of the lights were dark around me. Our neighbors across the street, who have their house for rent starting in January, appear to have already moved into their new abode in town.
Sara in the commotion cut her right paw on the second toe. A half-inch of fur and skin had been torn off and lay on the ground below the fence. I don't know if that cut came from a cut on the chain-link fence or if the dog bit her. Either way we all returned straight home, the walk having been abruptly cancelled, and she was limping badly with her ears down.
I didn't see the blood until we were home. Some had trickled on the carpet in the living room.
Kevin wanted to cancel his trip north to tend to Sara but I made him go.
"You haven't seen Tom and Kathy in several years, go see them now!" Kevin was afraid Sara's wound would get worse and wanted to stay home to monitor the wound.
I opted to stay at home with her. I dabbed her wound with Sulfodene. I knew it would burn, and Sara yelped in pain and then hobbled to the rear bedroom to hide when I applied the liquid directly on her wound. There was no doubt Sara was suffering and I was concerned for any added infection. The cut was clean and only affected the epidermis; blooding stopped shortly after the Sulfodene was applied.
Kevin took off at 11am and I went into a bit of a slump. I had so wanted to see Phoenix again and looked forward to the warmer weather and exploring White Tank Park where his relatives are for the holidays. But I also knew that I did the right thing by staying behind to care for Sara and to make sure she wasn't stressing herself needlessly.
But what to do now, all alone? Shopping was out of the question. I played Christmas songs, even listened to the latest by Eros Ramazzotti, my favorite Italian singer. I discovered his strong, nasal voice in the mid 1990s when I was stationed in Augsburg and bought all his CDs at the time. I don't know a word of Italian but Eros sure could make me want to learn!
He has turned grey now but his voice is as angelic as it was ten years ago when "Piu Bella Cosa" and "Se Bastasse una Canzone" wormed through my ears. The songs are as beautiful now as they were when they were hits across Europe.
So I had myself a backlash...for years I had forgotten about Eros. I also played some Christmas songs, "Peace on Earth" by Crosby and Bowie and "Silent Night" by Stevie Nicks.
But I didn't want to stay home. It was now dark and I decided, based on a local newspaper article, to drive into town to see the Luminaras on the west end of town. Some of the houses were decked out to extremes, but the added lights along the sidewalk invited neighborhood walkers to stroll passed the houses.
I loaded up the dogs, grabbed the recyclable cans, and drove to the light display, but the dogs were barking too much at the passers-by and the last thing I wanted to do was ruin their Christmas Eve. Sara huddled in the back of the truck, avoiding her right paw. Sadie barked at all the children and small dogs walking the Loop of the lighted-up neighborhood.
I ended the evening watching a French Movie, "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly" about a 42-year-old editor of Elle Magazine suffering a paralyzing stroke and learning to talk and walk again with the help of a determined young speech therapist. The subject matter was a bit macabre for Christmas Eve and I turned the movie off at the 37th minute.
The winds howled outside but it didn't rain overnight. The neighborhood was quiet. Most of the lights were dark around me. Our neighbors across the street, who have their house for rent starting in January, appear to have already moved into their new abode in town.
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