I tripped. In my dining room. On a package. That Winn dropped in front of me.
So, I guess it’s my fault for teaching her to bring in the mail, and the paper, and small packages, and shopping bags.
She’s supposed to hold them and give them to me once she’s inside, positioned nicely by the pantry to receive her treat. Recently, she’s decided she doesn’t want to hold them and would rather swing them around, drop them and pick them up, and maybe bring them to me.
One minute I’m walking through the house looking at my mail, heading toward the pantry and within a nanosecond I’m laying flat on my back, moaning in pain, unsure if I can get up and dealing with a huge dog standing over me licking my face.
Winn had a bubble pack in her mouth that contained a small box. She flung it and dropped it and I stepped on it just right. I rolled my ankle and heard something pop.
As I was sprawled out, looking at the ceiling and pushing away a big, slobbery head, all I could think about were the hazards of having a big dog. If I didn’t train her to do this (and obviously we still need to work out some kinks) I would be happily going about my business with two healthy, pain-free ankles.
Ah, the hazards of having a big dog. And trying to train them to do ridiculous things.