That Last Step's a Doozy

It's never good news when your dad comes back inside at 9pm with your dog and the first thing he says is, "It wasn't my fault!"

Dad had taken Sam with him outside last night to take some sticks and leaves to the curb for yard pick-up this morning, and Sam was lingering by the pool as usual. Dad warned him twice to get away from the pool--a soaking wet dogger at 9 at night is a nuisance--and on the last warning, Sam showed his true goofball colors. He turned away, missed a step, his left paw stepping unexpectedly off the edge, and the upset in balance caused him to a do a face plant onto the concrete pool deck. Dad said the thunk! of Sam plowing into the concrete was loud enough to make him worry Sam had hurt himself, so he immediately brought my wayward child back inside to me for treatment.

Sam came skulking in, and I checked him to make sure he wasn't limping and hadn't hurt his joints. Then I checked his teeth and tongue from where he'd clonked his face, and finally his chin, where he'd scraped off a dime-sized area of skin that was bleeding. His paw, too, had two scrapes on it that were bleeding. I got out the antiseptic and cleaned him off until the bleeding stopped, then gave him a milkbone for his troubles.

Poor Sam. He's such a goofball. All I could think was he was like a five-year-old kid who ignores warnings to slow down and skins his knee and then comes crying back to mommy. No lasting harm, just some bruised pride.