Tough

My day started off rough. Shea and I were on our normal running route. There isn't much stirring at 6:15 am, but I noticed a man getting into his car. What I didn't notice was his gigantic German Shepherd.

He was getting the German Shepherd in to his truck, and did not see me and Shea running up the hill. That is until his German Shepherd barked and came lunging at us. All estimated 120 pounds of him. Shea, being the baby that he is, was scared out of his mind. His instinct was to run, so he did. Problem: I was holding the leash.

As Shea took off, the leash wrapped around my legs. As I spun to unwrap the leash, BAM, the 120 pound German Shepherd ran into me enroute to getting at my baby boy. With the impact of his hit, I went flying, skidding across the pavement. As soon as I hit the ground, I thought not of what pain I was in (I wasn't in much, my sense of feel doesn't usually wake up until about 8:00 a.m.), but of the poor man who owned the German Shepherd. 

He must be worried that I am hurt. Luckily, the German Shepherd never got to Shea, and when the  man called his dog, he went right back. He was extremely apologetic as I lay embarrassed in the middle of the street. Embarrassed that I had fallen. I shouldn't be falling. I began laughing as he asked if I was ok and apologized over and over. I told him not to think another minute about it. 

He didn't realize it, because I was laying on the street, but I am tough. Nothing hurts me. Since I could not have inherited toughness from my husband, I must have gotten it from my mother. Cause anybody who is anybody knows my father would have been in tears and contemplating if there was just reason to sue.