It bit me in the buttocks!

First, here's Day 13.

These shoes aren't part of the 30 for 30 collection:
They were given to me by my Aunt Mar-Jo a few years back.

Where's Day 12, you ask? It was not really worth photographing. Purple V-neck + black bermudas + gold sandals. Nothin' special. Trust me. However, it WAS special that I wore my hair in a ponytail that day! That means my hair is growing. Go hair, go!

Oh and don't forget about the giveaway! All you have to do is leave a comment on the giveaway post and you might win a $25 Visa gift card! The odds are ever in your favor. See the link at the top of my sidebar.

And now, the tale of Jenna and the Ferocious Beast.

It all started late one Friday afternoon in the middle of the merry merry month of May. The kids were upstairs (probably watching Dora) and I was downstairs in the kitchen, making dinner, talking to Dill on the phone during his commute. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw some movement outside. I looked out the window (and what did I see?); sure enough, a dog was sauntering down the road, just outside my front door.

A little back story, here: I have a thing for lost animals in the street. My family's dog ran away when I was in third grade and it was awful. Luckily, we found her at the pound later, but it was a very long and tragic three days. So now, when I see a leashless dog walking around, I think about the poor owners and how distressed they'll be when they find out their precious pet is long gone. So, if I'm able, I try to catch them. Dill thinks this is hilarious. I think it's called being a Good Samaritan, but WHATEVER.

Anyway, back to my original story. I see this dog -- a beagle -- walking around in the front yards across the street, sniffing every bush and rock and twig he encountered. I told Dill, "There's a loose dog outside!" (he probably snorted then, I don't remember) and I opened the door to get a better look. Sure enough, Fido's not on a leash, no one's in sight. That little combination = dog on the loose. However, just across the street I also noticed an opened backyard gate. I put two and two together and determined THIS dog escaped from THAT house. I guessed this was going to be a fairly easy rescue -- shoo the dog into the backyard and close the gate. Nothing complicated. One-hundred percent fool-proof.

I stayed on the phone with Dill as I ventured outside, barefoot and in my brother's 8-year-old high school gym shorts (which also have bleach stains on them). The dog seemed pretty docile, plus it was a beagle, not a Rottweiler or pit bull or anything. It looked tame enough to me. I approached him nonchalantly and as I did, he trotted merrily into the backyard with the open gate. Perfect, I thought. I'll just walk over there, shut the gate behind him and --

"GROWLBARKSNARLHISSCHOMP!"

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!"

Oh yes, that innocent-looking beagle lunged right back out of the yard and SANK HIS TEETH into my upper thigh! (Ok, so it wasn't my butt. I admit, I bait-and-switched you).

In that moment, I had no idea what to do. I went from "What a nice dog I'm about to save!" to "Ohmygosh get the EFF away from me you killer MONSTER!!!!!" in about a half a second flat. I froze in panic and stared the thing down. Was it going to maul me to death now?  Was this how I was going to die?? I didn't know. I didn't want to find out. But something deep inside me said not to run because it might chase me. And that would be far worse than standing as still as a statue in ratty gym shorts on someone else's driveway, barefoot.

Remembering I still had the phone pressed to my ear, I told Dill, "It attacked me! Oh my gosh it attacked me!" He said that he'd gathered as much from the loud shriek I'd emitted seconds before.

Suddenly, the realization hit me: I'd been attacked by a strange dog who may or may not have rabies and it's STILL STANDING TWO FEET FROM ME.

"What should I do???" I whimpered, on the verge of tears (when am I ever NOT?).

"Go back to the house," Dill calmly stated. You know, in the same way one might say, "You're due for a tetanus shot."

Well, duh, of course I was going to go back to the house, but how? I decided the best way was to go slowly, so as not to spark any reaction from the obviously ticked-off dog. So I tip-toed right past the thing, shaking like a leaf (do leaves shake?). After what seemed like an hour, I passed through the doorway, turned around and slammed the door shut behind me. Good riddance, FOOL! I glanced out the window to see the mangy mutt walking down the street again as if he hadn't just tried to eat me alive.

Time to assess the damage.

"Did it break the skin?" Dill asked on the phone. I carefully peeled back my gym shorts and saw there was no hole in them. NO HOLE in my antique gym shorts! Blessed day! But the skin underneath was red, already bruised, and it looked as though there was a laceration. I carefully touched it for blood; it was dry. Just pinched. It looked like ... well, see for yourself:

I know, my white legs are far scarier than that flesh wound.

I decided the best course of action was to then call Animal Control, which was unhelpful.  Turns out they don't answer their phone past 4 p.m. on Friday, so if you're going to get bitten by a loose dog, try to make sure it happens during the week (I'd also avoid the noon hour since they probably don't answer their phones during lunch, either.) I sat through an automated system and was eventually directed to a voice mail. Of course I left a slightly exasperated and freaked-out message for them. Theatrics is what I do best, especially when provoked by automated systems.

They returned my call on the following Monday at which time I gave them a detailed report of the incident (I left out the part about wearing ratty gym shorts). They said they'd send someone out to the dog owner's home and help them secure their gate, and they'd call me back in a few days to let me know if the dog was up-to-date on his shots or not. Ok cool. I'll try not to foam at the mouth in the meantime. Later that week, they called back as promised and said Fido had all his immunizations and I should be OK! Yay!

So, I had a really pretty (ugly) looking bruise/blood blister thing (I guess the dog merely pinched my juicy thigh without puncturing it) for a few weeks but now I'm as good as new. Physically. Emotionally, though, I'm kind of terrified of beagles now.

And that's the story of how I survived being bitten (er, pinched) in the buttocks.