In the mornings we take Rascal outside to play. We throw around an old soccer ball, and Rascal chases after it with all the ghusto of the Iraqi soccer team, you know, when they represented the hopes of two nations. It is lovely in the mornings, especially now that the weather has turned warmer, and a half hour of playing with the whole family in the morning dew makes this house, with it's huge expanse of lawn and huger drain on the last of our savings account, worthwhile.
We put Rascal on a long leash, 20 feet, so that if he starts to run away we can but step on the end. He hardly notices, and neither do we, which has before today never proved dangerous. Today, however, the fates had it in for Danny. Dan threw the ball like always, and Rascal chased it, and this morning, as i looked over from accross the yard, i noticed the end of the leash whipping menacingly around Dan's pant leg. Then, as Rascal neared the ball running faster and faster, the end of the leash whipped around at last, lassooing against itself, and wrapped in a flash both of Dan's ankles. From there it was a slow TIMBER, and as i yelled, "Oh my goodness!" Dan, stiff as a tree, toppled over.
Poor Dan, he just about hurt every bone in his body. The hurt was compiled by the fact that the sight of Dan, being ropped by his feet and pulled by the dog, then slowly toppling as you knew must happen, was just about the funniest thing you could possibly hope to see. Too bad no one from America's funniest home videos was around. They love that kinda shit.
Speaking of America's funniest home videos, later when Dan was leaning over me to look at something on the computer, i gesticulated for emphasis and elbowed him in a very private are. After Dan had finished his whinces, he moaned, "I'm not having a good day today!"