Don’t get misled by the floppy ears and the deliciousness. He’s a wild beast. A Wild Beast.
My eyes take inventory of the damage.
There are four swollen puncture marks. All on the same hand. One gouge on the bulging vein on top of the right hand, two side by side on the wrist two inches above it, and one lightly visible on the fatty part of the skin above the thumb and index finger.
I slide my thumb into the palm in my right hand. I grip. Pain shoots up my hand, wrist and arm. Self-inflicted. Sort of. Not really.
It was all triggered by my step counter flashing red, urging me to get up off the couch – Walk! Harmless enough.
Rachel is glued to The Bachelor. (Mind numbing trash). I’m catching up on the morning papers. And Red Lights are still flashing.
I get up.
Zeke eyes me as I make a loop around the kitchen, the living room and the family room.
I make a second loop, and I pick up the pace heading into the third. Zeke jumps off the ottoman and gives chase.
Viszla turns Hound Dog, and howls in pursuit. He’s on my heels – we loop the kitchen-living room-family room-foyer once, and then again, three times and on to the fourth.
Both Dog and Master slide on the wood floors taking sharp corners, nicking kitchen chairs, spinning the swivel chairs and rumpling the floor rugs. The foot stomping and dog howling are drowning out the television. Pandemonium.
“Dad! Can you take it upstairs? I can’t hear the T.V.?”
Zeke’s eyes are full, he’s panting. Since he was a puppy, he fiercely protected all family members BUT the King who he viewed as The Threat.
I pull on Rachel’s leg, he grabs my pant cuff and he’s tugging. He releases and then nips me on my right hand. Not enough to hurt but enough to pinch. Hmmmmmm.
Rachel runs upstairs. I give chase. Zeke’s at my heels. He nips me on the right hand, again. Hmmmmm.
I catch her leg half way up. Zeke howls, growls and nips again, harder. Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
Rachel trips and falls on the landing. She yelps. And playfully rolls around feigning pain.
Zeke goes Wild – hound dog on fox. His eyes are full moons. He hurtles himself at me with open jaws and slams down on my right hand. WOWZA!
I grab his snout, wedge open his jaw, and remove my hand, it’s dripping with saliva.
“Zeke, Bad Dog! Down Boy! YOU BAD BOY!”
Zeke slinks down.
He looks up. I’m opening and clenching my hand. Holy Cow.
“OK Zeke. Get up and go downstairs to Mom. You Bad Boy! Man’s Best Friend? Hmmmmm.
I limp into the bedroom, wash off the blood, and crawl into bed – clenching and releasing my fingers.
I glance at my step counter…and smile.
- Photo: Zeke on his ottoman. (Thank you Rachel)
- Related Posts: Zeke