I’m normally at my computer by 3:30 a.m.
At around 7 a.m., my dog, Hunter, wanders into my home office, gives me a greeting, and lets me know that I should take him downstairs and let him out to pee.
Three weeks ago, I went back to bed at around 6 a.m. An hour later, Hunter gave me the pee-pee signal, and started walking toward the office and the back stairs, which (please take note) are carpeted.
To save a few seconds, I told him to follow me in the other direction, so we could go down the front stairs, which are not carpeted.
I was wearing socks, which provided no traction on the bare wood. I slipped, and slid on my ass, bumpety-bumpety-bump, all the way to the bottom. When I got to the bottom, I sat, trembled, and assessed the damage. Then, my sweet, smart, sarcastic Hunter brought me a pair of sneakers, as if to say, “You need traction, you fucking idiot.”
I developed a big, painful, purple-and-green hematoma (blood clot). On Thursday, a surgeon made three new holes in my ass to suck out about four ounces of blood.
Pay attention to your dog.