Pictured above is my very cute (and sometimes very cranky) dog Chloe.
As you can see, Chloe has many sides to her 13 year old self. But as a young pup, she was a hellraiser. Being an athletic dog, this could make for a lethal combination. Chloe could run so fast across the carpet that sparks would fly up.
When Chloe and I were much younger, we enjoyed playing chase. Now I'm not sure how we did this, but as I was chasing Chloe, we would suddenly both stop...and reverse the chase. This would go back and forth for a while. One chases the other, ESP moment, now the chaser is the chasee.
My baby Chloe would never do anything to hurt me, but she was pretty serious about chasing me down during these games. She may not have been very big, but as any dauchsand lover (such as Anna Mathewes) can tell you, the only thing keeping dauchsands from taking over the world is not having opposable thumbs and vocal chords that enable speech....and the fact that they occasionally eat their own poop.
So during this particular game (which I believe happened while I was between the ages of 12-13), it was my turn to be chased and Chloe was hunting me down like a rabbit in the woods. Fortunately, I being a human can think through things and come up with a solution for escape. Or so you would think...
As I turned down the upstairs hallway and headed towards our front stairway, I could feel Chloe gaining speed and getting closer. Letting Chloe run on a straight away was a sure fire way to let her make up ground, and I had totally just done that. I decided to turn and run down the stairs, hoping she would be deterred...she was not.
As I began my descent down the staircase, I could tell that Chloe would catch me momentarily. Now nothing would happen to me if I was "caught.". In fact, if anything, it was Chloe who was in danger of running into the back end of one of my tennis shoes. But the thrill of the chase overtook these rationale thoughts. I decided that from about the 5th step (leaving plenty of stairs left to go down), I would jump.
What I did not take into account was the fact that we have a giant, square overhang that apparently protudes right into the trajectory of a jump by a spastic 13 year old from the 5th step. I lept, my forehead hit the overhang, and my body shot straight down onto our entryway hardwood floors.
As I layed there, Chloe (who was decidedly more clear thinking than myself) tore down staris and began sniffing and licking my face to make sure I was okay.
"Chloe," I said, "I think I'm going to pass out."
Now there were two things about this that were odd. First of all, why the heck was I telling Chloe, who could clearly not call a doctor or had a copy of my insurance information, that I was losing consciousness. She may have been the most responsible one in the house since my parents were gone at the time, but there was nothing that she could do.
Secondly, I had not, nor have I ever at this point in my life, passed out. Seriously. But I remember my head feeling very fuzzy, seeing spots, and not being able to focus. If I had been in a math class, I would know that this was normal for me and that I was okay. But laying on the floor, I knew this was bad.
I somehow halfway got up and crawled into the family room to lay down on the couch. Chloe stayed with me the whole time, and I was able to stay conscious. I'm sure if she could talk, she wouldn't have said anything about how ridiculously stupid it was that I jumped from near the top of the stairwell, hit an overhang, and (most likely) got a concussion just to outrun a 10 pound dog....but she probably laughed about it hysterically while she ate her own poop later that evening.
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