Recollections....

Memories.... what trigger them?? An incident long forgotten came flooding back earlier tonight... prompted by ?? thinking initially about our current pets ??. Triggered by a post by lazybuddhist about her cats intruding upon her meditation practice. There is no real connection, of course, just haphazard mental wanderings..... and my incident was a painful one not amusing. Physically, emotionally and mentally.

We had, for a time, a Jack Russell terrier called Bandit. Generally speaking Bandit was a good dog but he wasn't 'wired' quite right and would have occasional violent episodes. Without provocation he would become a frenzied ball of flashing teeth and snapping jaws. Back when I was drinking, and drinking very heavily, Bandit would sometimes not 'recognize' me. From his view my body had become inhabited by some foreign force, an alien being and so, would ambush and attack me, as he would any stranger, by throwing his body against my shins or darting and snapping at my ankles.

Back at this time my kids would come spend every other weekend with us and I was generally successful at moderating my drinking while they were there. On this occasion just my son had come out and for one reason or another I went overboard with the drinks; I was hammered. My tolerance was very high so I must have had quite a lot more than I was used to. He was 10 or 11 years old and had been in bed that night sleeping for a few hours. I realized just how drunk I was and decided it was time to go to bed myself. As I stumbled past Bandit he lunged at me and connected - his teeth, my forearm. Hurt and startled I reacted by swinging at him - he yelped, retaliated in full attack mode. Darting, snapping, ripping .... I was a mess, blood everywhere ..... woke the house yelling, cursing and thrashing about.

Bandit retreated after a couple of minutes; by then Lynda and my son were there tending to me and the lot of us made it to an upstairs bathroom. High emotion - lots of confusion - talking over one another. Running cold water on my many cuts, hands wouldn't stop the heavy tremors, bright red blood swirling down the drain, forcing my gorge down, trying to maintain the appearance of being in control, fighting to not faint. I knew I didn't want to go to hospital in the condition I was in; couldn't drive and didn't want to be taken. I really needed a number of stitches to repair the tears in my flesh. What to do?? Lynda was thoroughly disgusted and badly shaken, crying - she went to bed.

My lasting impression is the expression on my son's face while he pressed the sides of the gashes together and I wielded the tube of Crazy Glue tacking them closed. Looking like he wanted very badly to burst into tears but focused equally intently on the task at hand in order not to. Big boys don't cry - attaboy. Thanks. Off to bed now. You must be tired. Yeah, me too - right after this drink I will. Steady my nerves a bit. g'night.