First of all, it's 5:37 a.m. on a Sunday, and I can't sleep. And I'm blogging. I just thought I'd let that out there so you guys knew I was Crazy.
And yesterday I got attacked by a dog. By attacked, I mean it jumped on me, barking, put my hand in its mouth and ripped my iPod earbuds out of my ears, likely in an attempt to eat me, but I didn't die. And there was no blood. But it was an attack, dammit.
So I'm running along in the neighborhoods - 15 miles total, thank you - when out of the corner of my right eye I witness a (probably) 120-pound Rottweiler break the cable that was securing him to a tree and come bounding toward me. That is when I simultaneously pooped my pants and, aloud, said, "F-ck."
He jumped on my left side and barked in my face, so I pushed him off and spoke to him in a baby voice. Hi, sweet puppy. Hi. Oh, you're a good doggy. Because even in the midst of an attack, I still love puppies. And rainbows. Oh, and bats. Which are GONE, by the way. I blame you.
But then he stopped playing nice, and I saw teeth. And he kept jumping. And my hand? Was in his mouth, which at first felt like a love bite, but I realized it was more of an attempt to eat me when he wouldn't let go. Finally, his owner rushed to the front yard to pull him off, and scold him for breaking the cable, which tied him to a tree, twice. Twice.
"Oh, dammit. I'm sorry," she says, as her dog Continued To Eat Me. "This is the second time he's done this."
To which I wanted to reply, "Perhaps, ma'am, if you didn't tie your 120-pound Rottweiler to a tree in your front yard with a Goddamn balloon string, you wouldn't have this problem."
But instead, I continued to talk to her dog in baby tones. Sweet, pup-pup.
She hauled him away, probably to replace the shoestring with which she tied him up, and I continued my run, with only a few scratches on my right hand. Battle wounds.
I got attacked by a Rottweiler. And I didn't even cry. I am a badass.