Defining yourself and Dog Bite Weekend
How do you define yourself? Really. How do you define yourself.
Last weekend we headed up to the Berkshires to squeeze in one last trip with the camper. We loved October Mountain State Forest when we had visited in July, but I was also battling some serious back issues then so my participation and mood were a bit off that week. I was very much looking forward to getting up into the mountains (ok, "hills"), hiking in the woods, seeing some foliage and smelling that great musty-wet-dirt smell of Fall.
We pulled into the campground pretty late and said hello to our neighbors who were hanging out by the campfire with their dog. The next morning with a good breakfast in our bellies and some sammiches, water and snacks packed we headed for the truck and our 20 minute ride to Monument Mountain. As I approached the driver's side door of our truck the neighbor's dog, who was tethered to the ground by one of those corkscrew type dog leashes, came over to inspect me. His ears were back and I tentatively put out my hand for him to sniff but he uttered a low-growl so I pulled my hand back. Assuming that his leash was at its end (I was in my site and he was on the line of his) I turned my back to open the truck door when I heard him growl and felt him bite into the back of my right calf. I yelled, swore (only twice!) and grabbed my leg as the owners grabbed his leash and pulled him back. I pulled myself to the bed of the truck and checked the damage. Holes in my jeans, minor punctures and a good sized bruise already forming. The owner came over apologetically; offered up the rabies certificate when asked for it; and Matthew brought me some alcohol wipes to clean the area. No stitches, and as I was up on my tetanus shots we continued on with our day and to our hike.
With a few well-timed ibuprofen I made the hike (though we took the "less strenuous" route the map suggested), we had a great lunch with a great view and came back down the mountain ready for more exploring. The only thing that bothered me was the constant question "How's your leg?" and "Are you OK?" "Does your dog bite hurt?" - they love me, they care about me, they want to make sure that I am fine. But I finally said: "Guys, we are out in these beautiful woods, splashing our heads under the waterfall, we had a great view when we ate, and we're all together - let's not let what happened this morning define our weekend."
But it did. And it does. This will always be the weekend that Daddy got bit by the dog. Not the weekend that we climbed Monument Mountain, or that we went apple picking - Dog Bite Weekend is the title of this book. And it wasn't just Celeste and the kids - me too. As hard as I tried I just couldn't NOT tell people sometimes or share the picture I took of my leg on Facebook. I don't think that I was looking for sympathy because I really dislike being treated like an invalid; though honestly, in some way it gave me a sense of significance. All I know is that it is hard not to share with people the dried blood and the yellow and purple and even to describe it in colorful detail {laughing!} is there ANY hope for me?
As easy as it is to let a moment define a weekend, or a job to define our purpose or our anatomical appearance to define our self-worth, we need to be a little more self-aware as to why we choose the definitions in our Lives that we do and how else we can share the essence of ourselves with others. More honestly, more powerfully, more worthily.
If we meet someday and you mention a trip you made to the Berkshires I'll tell you all about the perfect weather we had, the nice easy pace we took, the money we saved by making our own lunches and the 2 houses in the real estate guide that we looked for only knowing the towns they were in and we found them both! I'll try not to mention the other thing because...well, just because.
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