A Squirrel, a Concussion, and a Hundred Dollars of Dog Food

It started with a quick errand to CVS.

Just a simple walk with Nicky. Just a few blocks. Just a little fresh air.

What could go wrong?

Cue the squirrel.

Right in the middle of a major intersection — like, red-light, traffic-everywhere, welcome-to-the-stage level busy — Nicky spotted a squirrel living its best chaotic gremlin life across the street. And Nicky, my sweet, lovable, hyper-focused dog daughter, decided it was time for war.

She lunged.

I didn’t.

I tripped.

Hard.

My body slammed down, and my head cracked back against the pavement like a goddamn cartoon anvil.

For a few seconds I just laid there, stunned, in the literal middle of the road.

Cue the chorus of car doors swinging open and strangers running toward me.

People helped me up.

They helped with Nicky.

They got us to the sidewalk.

And I just sat there, hurting. Mortified. Drenched in pain and adrenaline and rage at the squirrel gods.

And you’d think that was the worst of it, right?

But no.

Because just after that — like right on cue in the middle of my spiraling rage nap fantasy — he shows up.

David.

With a giant bag of dog food.

Because I had it shipped to his house.

Because I was supposed to be living there.

Yeah.

I ordered a $100 bag of food to a home I’d already been asked to leave.

Now I’m sore, humiliated, pissed, and still figuring out how to walk Nicky again without signing up for an unplanned chiropractic adjustment.

All I wanted was to pick up a couple things.

All I got was whiplash, squirrel sabotage, and an emotional drive-by from an ex carrying kibble.

I don’t have a tidy ending to this one.

I’m hurting.

I’m pissed.

I want my dog food.

And I want to go to sleep.

With Love,

Dana & Nicky