Man’s Best Friend?

32.365 - Man's best friend
Image by Jeff the Trojan via Flickr

This morning, my dog tried to kill me.

I don’t know if I didn’t respond quickly enough to his early morning demands for breakfast (SOS, the same old –er–stuff he usually gets) or the fact that it was only SOS and no table scraps. Might have been I didn’t jump right up last night and take out one more time into the slush to sniff smells, bathroom functions not at issue.

Worst part of it, he would have claimed it was an accident. How could he help it if he slobbered excessively waiting his meal and that happened to be right in the path I would take to pour his horrible dry kibble into his bowl? And could he help it that I was wearing my treadless fleece lined bedroom slippers–aptly named!

I hit the slobber-puddle unsuspecting when the coefficient of friction dropped suddenly to zero. Viscous spit is a much better lubricant and mere water on hardwood floors. Had it not been for the top of the stove that broke my fall (and nearly my right forearm) I would have fallen arse over teakettle. Ann would have found me dead-spreadeagle in the middle of the kitchen floor, the dog looking on in pretentious remorse.

Slime goeth before the fall. End of story.

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Fred First holds masters degrees in Vertebrate Zoology and physical therapy, and has been a biology teacher and physical therapist by profession. He moved to southwest Virginia in 1975 and to Floyd County in 1997. He maintains a daily photo-blog, broadcasts essays on the Roanoke NPR station, and contributes regular columns for the Floyd Press and Roanoke's Star Sentinel. His two non-fiction books, Slow Road Home and his recent What We Hold in Our Hands, celebrate the riches that we possess in our families and communities, our natural bounty, social capital and Appalachian cultures old and new. He has served on the Jacksonville Center Board of Directors and is newly active in the Sustain Floyd organization. He lives in northeastern Floyd County on the headwaters of the Roanoke River.

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  1. As a comrad to two bloodhounds I live in a world of discarded drool and slime. It is not unusual to spot it hanging from our ceiling lights like icicles highlighted by the first light of day. I have fallen more than once on bowl sixe puddles of viscous.

    My deepest sympathies.