Excuse me, sir, do you have any idea how fast you were going?

I'm tempted to write something along the lines of:

Wanted to trade--one 9-month-old German Shepherd puppy for a sedate Chihuahua.

It's been a bad morning. I was going to work from home, since Lloyd was at a convention, and I didn't want poor Dieter to be cooped up for a long time. But my computer wouldn't connect to the network and so it looked like my only option was going in to the office. I got up early, fed the cats, started my coffee, and took Dieter outside to do his "business" and to play with him for a bit. He was playing with a new ball we got him and also just putzing around, doing a perimeter check and smelling the flowers.

Faster than a speeding bullet, able to
knock things catawampus.

.

While he did that, I decided to pull some weeds. I had just bent over to cut off a mulberry sapling thug when KA-BAPPP. Dieter came steaming around the corner and smacked his head into the side of mine. My glasses flew off my face and the rest of me also flew over. I ended on the ground, lying on my right hip and arm.

In his defense, he didn't know I was there and immediately came over to see if I was still alive. Sniff, sniff..."Whatcha doin' on the ground, mom?" I decided that I was, indeed, still alive and that everything seemed to be moving alright, so I got myself and the dog inside, where I also decided it would be ok to feel sorry for myself. In fact, my right arm had a nasty bruise and it was bleeding. So I got myself over to the urgent care where they said I could either get one stitch or a steri-strip. I went the steri-strip route.

Now, a few hours later, I feel like I've been run over by a truck.

I talked to my cousin, who offered up a heapin' helpin' of sympathy and who also suggested that going forward I not try to multitask. I'm going to focus all my attention on the Fliegende Deutsch Hund, that's for sure!