My dad will be 90 this year. 90, people. Good gosh a'mighty!
When is his birthday? Funny you should ask.
Well, BlogHer weekend, of course. Eeeeek. So I get to try to decide what to do about that. Go, and feel like a total shit for abandoning my dad as he marks 9 DECADES because he says he doesn't want any kind of recognition and it is just another day and blah blah blah.
Or don't go and miss out and regret THAT all year long?
But I digress. This post is really about how one of my worst fears almost came true today.
You know how Goldie is a big, active sighthound with very little training, right? She is 65 lbs of pure muscle, and no, she does not heel. This is my damn fault because I let her do what she wants on walks.
My logic is "Yeesh, the dog does what everyone else wants ALL the time. Let her do what she wants on walks. It's HER walk."
So she tugs and pulls and leaps into bushes with Grace and Nimbletude Unforeseen.
When I walk her, I control her as best I can. She has gotten better with age, and anyway I figure a shoulder separation is a small price to pay for a nice walk along the beach path.
But my dad likes to walk her, too. I have tried to warn him off this activity, since, though he is strong for a skinny old dude, he is also legally blind. But no. He likes to walk the dog.
Today he stopped to chat with a neighbor who has a puppy. Apparently a loose, off-leash puppy, because Goldie tried to play chase with the pup, though Goldie was on a leash. Goldie ran around Dad, effectively tying his legs together and then pulling him over.
He took quite a spill and scraped the hell out of his elbow and knee. Because he takes blood thinners, he was still bleeding a bit hours later.
This makes my stomach squinch up and my blood pressure rise to unhealthy levels. I try to remain calm, but the tremors in my hands probably give me away.
I don't know if my heart is strong enough for this strong-willed dog and strong-willed dad.