Friday, May 31, 2013

Dog Bite

I always figured it would have been Grover that did it.  I mean, if any dog deserves to take a snap at Elijah or Luca, it’s the dog they tease, poke, pull, jump on and scream at.

But alas, it was another dog that bit Luca.

We were at my friend Garth’s big Memorial BBQ in the western suburbs.  There were beers, burgers, hipsters and tons of dogs.  Big dogs, little dogs, dogs who climb on rocks.  Fat dogs, skinny dogs, even dogs with chicken pox.

Both boys realized the hard way that their bbq plates were right at dog mouth level and Luca lost ½ a burger to a sneaky corgi or some other kind of stubby legged guy.

The constant stampede didn’t really bother the boys too much.  Especially after they found Currey Dorris.  He’s a giant of a man.  A man who rivals Garth in tallness.  And like Garth, he is a super nice guy.  He has boundless energy and seemed to like being ninja kicked by two kids ¼ his size.

All that ninja kicking and ninja “hiya”-ing got the boys into a massive frenzy.  They raced around, yelling and screaming and running among the animals until one of the guys had enough.  He barked and took a chomp onto Luca’s hand.

Now, granted, it was clearly a warning chomp.  It barely broke the skin.  All there was was tiny little puncture. 

But it was enough to scare the living heck out of Luca.  He screamed the bad scream and came a running.

We sprang into action.  It was time for Operation Don’t Make A Big Deal Out Of It.  Because if we freaked out, we could be creating a dog phobia that will never go away.  I didn’t want Luca, who is already racking up an impressive list of stuff to be afraid of, to get spooked every time a dog walks by our front door.

I hugged him and said as calmly as possible, “Oh. It appears that you have been bitten.  No big deal at all.  Hmm.  Oh look.  Blood.”

The dog’s owner came running over to see if he was okay and I said in the most genteel way, “All is well, kind lady.  There is no need for any freaking out.  Huzzah! “

Luca wouldn’t fall for any of it.  He ramped the screaming up into high gear until Diana offered him ice cream and a band-aid. 

I can’t tell if it has any lasting affect on the boy.  He doesn’t seem freaked out by dogs and continues to torture Grover.  And Grover continues to look at me like, “When is it my turn?”

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