First of all, this blog will not be for the squeamish. I ain't kidding. Do NOT continue reading if you are weak of stomach or going to send me messages like,
"Ewww. Why did I have to read that?"
You don't have to. Stop now.
OK, still with me? Here's what happened last week.
I was home and watching TV waiting for people to wake up, as I sometimes have to do if I get up before noon, because the rest of you are lazier than I am. My dog, Val, who you all know and love from her role in SAVAGED asked to sit next to me on the couch. Being the pain in the ass that I am I insisted she hug me first.
Dogs don't hug like people. Her hug consisted of her putting her front paws, chest and head on the couch next to me where I was lying down. Her head was actually about a foot ahead of me. I put my arm around her and squeezed. I got up on one arm, looked at her and gave her chest aonther squeeze. This is when Val got into character giving me a snarl I wish I had captured on camera for the movie.
Anyway, I thought she was upset because my hair had gotten into her face. We'll talk later about what was really going. Main thing is, a snarl from a dog is in no uncertain terms a request to back off. If fact, they insist.
I hugged her again.
In a swift turn and a loud snarl and bark she was on me. Bit me in the head. F**KING HARD! Then it felt like she tugging on me. Struggling with me like a chew toy. I about shit my pants. (Turns out she was caught in my and hair. I found the evidence on the floor later.) I finally gave her one good push and she was off me. I dropped to the floor and put my hand to head. I was bleeding.
Being the manly man I am, I began to run around the living room shouting, "Shit! What do I do? What do I do?"
Men, don't panic. Call your wife.
I got Nancy at work and she calmly put me on speaker phone while she called for someone to cover her and then she temporarily closed her store so she could come drive me to the ER.
I, medical genius that I am, put a paper towel on my head.
Another piece of advice, do NOT look at the paper towel. I was still bleeding, a lot. There was a trail of blood leading to my kitchen, my bathroom, everywhere...and it wasn't Corn Syrup.
I decided to lock up the dog, as I do with guests so she won't try to bite them (she's never actually caught a guest). I did this brave deed by saying, "Val, go to your room!" She did. And I put a 3 foot doggy gate around her. Then, not wanting my wife to be upset when she showed up, I began to clean the floor. In the corner where the incident took place I found something about 1/2 inch long.
"Is that a tooth?"
I picked it up and what do you think it was? My EYEBROW! The dog bit off one of my eyebrows!
"Val! Go to your....oh, yeah, you're there."
Let's skip to the ER.
ME: "I have a piece of my head here in a baggy."
NURSE:"Oh. We can't do anything with that. I can throw it away for you."
ME: "I'll wait for a doctor thankyou."
10 minutes later.
DOCTOR: "We can't do anything with that."
We threw my eyebrow away. Now aliens can clone me from medical waste.
The ER Doctors couldn't stitch me up. They sent me to a Plastic Surgeon who told me I would be, "disfigured for life". What he meant was I would have one skinny eyebrow and a 2 inch scar on my forehead.
We get home and I go upstairs and my wife let's the dog out of her little pen. The dog seems normal. The next day we hadn't heard from animal control, but it was a weekend. Oh, apparently dog bites are like gunshot wounds. Legally hospitals have to report them. Anyway, at this point the dog was not under qaurentine, so while I was on manditory bedrest (apparently exhurtion of any kind could split the many, many stitches in my head) Nancy took the dog to the vet. It turns out that Val has a back problem. The extent of which we do not know, but rest assured we are having specialists look at her as soon as the quarentine she was put under (another auto response to dog bites apparently to make sure she didn't catch a virus or soemthing) is over on Monday. Right now she's on pain meds and has already learned a few new behaviours.
1. SHe's not allowed on the couch.
2. If she wants me to enter a room, she has to give me some room.
3. If she wants to be petted "vigurously" she has to wear a muzzle (This has never lasted for more than 10 minutes, but she does like to press against people.)
I too, have learned a new command. I learned that a snarl-face from a dog means leave it the Hell alone and take her to the Vet for pain meds.
A week later, my stitches are out, Val and I are still friends and we're still working out her back issues. I'm not sure, but I think her spine is actually a little misaligned.
On a side note, the wound to my head and the gore in the movie are remarkeabley similar. Tabatha Gipe, our make-up F/X artist is to be commended on her realism. Photos will be posted soon people.