A Trail of Blood to Find Your Way Back Home
Some days I think that I live a more interesting life than I should really want.
I've survived two car accidents, a skydiving accident and a bike accident that nearly cost me my leg. I've fallen off a third story roof onto concrete and landed unharmed. I've been hit by a car. I've been questioned by the FBI twice. I've been cliff diving. My house once caught fire. I've been jumped on the street by a quartet of crack heads. I've had a gun pulled on me. And, I've come through all of it with only a couple of scars and more than a few stories to tell.
As of this week, I can add "attacked by a pit bull" to the list.
The dog slipped its master's grasp at the park and took to gnawing on my forearm. She set on me from behind. I didn't even see her coming. If I did something to set her off, I have no idea what it was. Her owner snapped at her and she released. He swore up and down that she's never done anything like that before.
Just to disclaim, I'm perfectly fine. I had the bite cleaned and dressed, and it's healing nicely. I don't hold any animosity towards the dog or the owner.
Just, seriously, how the fuck does this kind of thing keep happening to me?