Somehow I have found myself trying to explain to a small town cop that I am not a serial killer as blood drips from my forearm and balding forehead.
The sun glistening off the box cutter in my right hand while both hands sweat in their surgical gloves.
All the while the bitch that led me to this point is smirking up at me. How did I get here?
Well, like so many things it started with a text from my mother. I had decided to go to Chickasha for the day one Saturday and she replied asking if I would help her with a project. I always tried to help my Momma but approach any of her projects with a bit of trepidation.
You never really know what you are getting into when you said yes. It might be as easy as loading the back of the truck with exercise equipment, books and blankets to take to the lake or you might end up planting 10,000 caladium bulbs, carrying and spreading 300 bags of cedar mulch or organizing all of the half-priced Christmas lights she has bought over the years.
If, as Forrest Gump said, life is like a box of chocolates and you never know what you are going to get then life with Lil Bit is the deluxe variety box. I never know whether the morsel I hold in my hand will be caramel-filled, have a coconut center or is actually a chocolate covered grasshopper.
The other aspect of assisting Lil Bit is that helping Momma often ended up with someone hurt. But that someone is never her.
But no one can resist her charm and despite the risks of bodily harm we all say yes and suit, or gauze up, for the task at hand. Even though she is a God in the OR she puts off an aura of helplessness in life outside of the hospital. I weigh the risks and want to say no, but then I look at her and my heart melts and I end up saying yes.
Saturday afternoon came and I found myself tearing out old carpet from their bedroom. Mom had recently decided to replace all the carpet in the house with wood floors to help her allergies. Removing carpet is not a hard job, but it is dirty and you get sweaty. To protect my hands I put on a pair of surgical gloves under my work gloves and grabbed a box cutter to slice a strip of dirty carpet. The afternoon was going well and we were making good progress. Not too much left to do — just the area under the bed was left. I grabbed a big swath of carpet, rolled it up and threw it on my shoulder to make the trip out to the truck.
That would be when one of Momma's Miniature Doberman Pinschers, Rainbow, decided to make a break for it and ran out the door behind me. I didn't realize that she had made it outside until I saw her running down the alley by the railroad track in front of me. Dammit! This would not be the first or last time that Rainbow had escaped and each time it involves me chasing after the dog, screaming her name while running through the neighborhood.
One detail I have forgotten to mention is that for some reason Lil Bit's house alarm had been going off all day. We had checked and checked and could not figure it out. The alarm company had called, Momma had told them that we were ok and all had written it off as some type of malfunction. It happens.
Well, as I saw Rainbow, whose personality resembles a combination of Kim Jong Ill and Ross Perot, make a run for it I immediately threw the carpet in the back of the truck and proceeded to try to chase her down. I threw off my work gloves so I could grab her better but for some reason held onto the box cutter. Somewhere in the four laps we made around the house I tripped and cut my arm. Not a deep cut, really nothing more than a scratch, but it bled a lot. I rubbed it against my forehead to wipe the sweat out of my eyes and not thinking about it ended up with blood on my forehead.
I had just about caught the dog, after screaming her name maniacally while running all over the neighborhood holding a box cutter, when I heard the cop car pull up. The alarm company had got another call on Lil Bit's house and decided to send the cops out when they didn't hear from her. I smiled at the cop as he got out of the car and said hello. For some reason the cop didn't seem to be in a good mood and was not happy to see me.
"Is there a problem?" he asked.
"Just trying to catch the dog," I replied. "Can you help me catch her?"
It was then that I caught a glimpse of myself in his polarized sunglass lenses. Blood on my forehead, maniacally grasping a box cutter in surgically gloved hands, screaming out the name "Rainbow" as I sweated profusely in the 40 degree lack of heat while running around the neighborhood. "Ruh-oh," is what jumped into my mind at the moment.
This would be when Rainbow, who I have always had a hate-hate relationship with, decided to become my best friend and ran up next to me. I looked down at her and I could see that she was gloating. She had won this round and knew it. Even though she is a dog I could swear that her little lips curled up into a smirk as she sat obediently at my feet. Somehow with my canine enemy I convinced the cop that everything was OK and that I had not just dispatched the residents of the house in a premeditated bloodbath. No easy task, but hey, I work in marketing.
As the cop pulled away I leaned down to pick up Rainbow and I swear I heard laughter in her high-pitched bark...she knew better than anyone that the curse of helping Lil Bit had struck again.
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