A Good Bleed Leads...

This actually happened to me yesterday afternoon-- My Mum’s dog and my knuckleheaded pup Waldo crawled under the fence and started heading out into the fields. I happened to catch them in action and jumped in my truck and drove around my neighbors house and caught them in the act of trying to go have some dog fun.

This is the best time to teach them about dog fun without their poppa, and I chased Waldo back to the house and made my Mum’s dog shit herself with fear and run and hide.

I don’t really beat dogs as punishment, but I am very severe with them when I deem it necessary. Catching these two miscreants in the act made it possible for me to be really strong with them, hoping to instill the fear of Scott and the wrath of same in them before they get lost or shot or hit by a car.

I play alpha dog and grab them by the scruff of the neck and slam them to the ground and growl and yell and scream deep throated at them while they cower and submit. While it may look a little violent, dogs tend to get even more attached to the person or dog they regard as alpha. It is in their genetics.

So Waldo got his due and he ran off to go commiserate with the humiliation he just got, and my Mum’s dog, knowing the rules, tried to sneak into the back sliding door where my Mum had innocently opened the door to let her in.

Uhh uh! I was not going to have any part of it. I grabbed her dog and tucked her under my armpit and took her back out of the sliding door and down the two concrete steps and gave her the alpha dog treatment. In the process of slamming her to the ground on her back, she freaked a little and snapped at me, not really intending to bite down on me, but snapping nonetheless. She’s done this before and she usually gets met by a second hand to her face, pinning her down so she has to completely submit.

Once submission occurs, I let her up and she runs off to go commiserate with herself for the scolding she just got.

This time, however, her canine (she is a smaller dog, and her canines are pointy and sharp) caught me and punctured my wrist. Not a large hole- in fact a hole the size of a type-written capital “O” on a regular type writer- but it pierced an artery in my wrist. You know, one of the ones that suicide victims try and hit?

My heart and blood pressure were up from reprimanding my dog, and as I started to head back into the house, knowing I had caught a bite on my arm but not paying any attention to it, I suddenly realized that I couldn’t go in the house because I was SPURTING blood. Not dripping blood. Not sort of running blood. But spurting it. About like a urinating infant boy. More than a squirt gun. Before I knew it, and before I thought I had better get some pressure on it (and while I was looking at it sort of curious and amazed) I had accumulated a puddle about 12 inches around and an eighth of an inch thick, on my concrete step right in front of the sliding door.

I put my thumb on the artery, told my Mum to get me a paper towel as quick as she could without falling down, and stopped the bleed with constant pressure in less than a minute.

When CSI comes to check out our house, they are going to arrest everyone who ever lived here.