Argh. They say a dog...

...knows the difference between being kicked and being tripped over. I'm not so sure.

I came out of the scriptoreum to, um, chase some mutant zombie bikers. Yeah, that's it. And on my way to the tree Little Bear came running over to say hey, like we hadn't seen each other five minutes before when he got tired of hanging around in the cold dark room with Daddy and wanted out in the sun, right? And he INSERTED HIS PAW DIRECTLY UNDER MY DESCENDING PLASTIC FOOT, over which I have little control, and I swiveled to keep from crushing it, and he darted forward no doubt with the same objective, and he caught my right foot in the ribs, and he let out a yelp like I'd shot him in the pancreas, and then I fell right over him, and I think he maybe got a knee in the ribs 'cause he gave me another agonized yelp like this was his last moment on earth, and I skinned my other knee and about impaled my right palm on a rock trying to keep from just landing on him with all my weight, and I roll over on my back and I'm moaning and yelling, and he comes over and sticks his muzzle in my face and knocks my hat off and I think he's trying to tell that he doesn't know if I was beating on him or playing with him but just for the record if he gets a choice he prefers the latter, okay?

I gotta get a better class of dog. And some iodine.