On Saturday, I spent an hour and a half sweeping all of the floors in the house thoroughly in preparation for mopping (only the bedrooms have carpet). I decided to take a little break and catch up on blogs via my Google Reader so I sat down in front of the computer in the kitchen. Whilst doing so, my brother's dog, Luna, came and sat on my foot because my mother had begun vacuuming her area rugs and poor little Luna hates the vacuum. She was shaking and cowering so I reached down and reassured her while I continued to read. My mother finished vacuuming and came over and asked about a gardening project we're working on, petted the dog, and went to the garage.
ONE MINUTE later I stood up to follow her and had taken one step with my right foot when I felt my foot begin to slip on something wet. I lost control of my right foot as it slid forward quickly and I went down on my left (bum) knee and continued to slip until I found myself doing a twisted and painful split. It only took a second, but as soon as I began to go down I thought, "I just swept this and it wasn't wet. Where's the dog? Mom is right, this tile really is deadly when wet. I really really hope I didn't just tweak my bum knee." I rolled onto my back and lay there for a moment feeling pain in my bum knee (really, it's bad, I've dislocated it twice and it has a touch of arthritis), and wondering what caused my fall. I sat up and looked at my legs and to my horror, I'd just slipped on the biggest pile of dog vomit I've ever seen. And my lower legs were COVERED in it. If I had to estimate how much vomit was on the ground I'd say one gallon at least. Now, Luna is not a big dog. She's a little mutt about the size of a Jack Russell terrier. How she managed to yak up a gallon of puke is beyond me. I surveyed the puke and thought, "I didn't even hear her throw up and she practically puked right on me. Doesn't she eat dog food? I see chicken, some grass, and how in the world did she get that olive?" Still a little worried about my bad knee, I stay put and began hollering at the top of my lungs for my mom. No response. I kept calling and calling. No response. Because I was yelling, Luna started to get nervous and probably thought she was in trouble. I called her over to me and soothed the little stinker. My mom finally came in from the garage and I called her into the kitchen and when she saw the carnage in front her, she scrunched up her face and told me to take my pants off and go take a shower. I tested my knee and it felt alright, so I dropped my pants right there in the kitchen with all the windows open and put my pants in the washer on my way to the bathroom. I scrubbed every inch of myself and when I came out of the shower I found that the floor was clean and my mom was sitting on the patio taking deep breaths. She said she was trying to calm the heaving. She was seriously about to yak too. Luckily she didn't because I probably would've managed to slip in that too.
There you have it. Death by dog vomit. Almost.
On a side note, I'm really glad that I've been working out religiously every day for the past three weeks because I'm significantly stronger than I was and I think I could have really hurt myself if I hadn't improved both my strength and flexibility recently. I did pull my hamstring and groin, but it was pretty mild and two days of resting seemed to do the trick.
I do think it's endlessly funny to tell people I pulled a muscle slipping on dog vomit. Just thinking about it cracks me up all over again.