When one goes out for a party, the last thing anyone would expect to happen during the night out is to be bitten by their favourite animal. The universe, however, must’ve been completely bored out of its boundless mind and decided it was time to have some fun, at my expense of course.
Dogs, similar to humans, tend to be unpredictable at times. Regarding the one that I had an encounter with, I was duly warned by my friend, the owner, to watch out for whenever his pet starts to growl. But as a dog lover it is extremely difficult to ignore them especially when they’re scurrying around you with their tail kicking up a whirlwind in indication of their excitement at seeing you. As one of the recipients of that great amount of affection, I stood no chance against his brown eyes and down I went to pet him into oblivion.
Personally its very hard to not turn into an idiot engaging in baby talk while petting a dog, its almost instantaneous. In that millisecond of me producing bizarre sounds from my mouth I failed to notice that the dog had begun to growl and the next moment I see it lunging for the part of me that was closest to it, my face. I wonder now if it was something I had said.
The events that followed ‘the incident’ are no doubt seared into my brain. The bleeding laceration above my mouth, the look of panic on my friends’ faces and the one thought that played on repeat in my head was, “You’ve got be kidding me! Now am going to have to answer stupid questions of whether I was trying to kiss the dog!” It was rather curious that I didn’t break into tears at my misfortune and pain as the only emotion I felt was an amusing disbelief. Even while I got my tetanus shots (plural) at the clinic, I was busy taking selfies of my face to send it to some friends. Theres nothing like getting some attention for your loss of vanity. Was the universe trying to send me a message again?
The one thing that genuinely worried me was the reaction of my parents. To avoid any rude surprises, the moment I reached my front door the next morning I called up my father, waking him up from a late Sunday slumber still blissfully unaware and warned him of my predicament. I made the parental units promise that they wouldn’t freak out and then had them open the door. They freaked out a little.
It has been more than a month today, the wound has healed well and I am alright with being called ‘Scarface’. It has to go though, hence the copious amount of ointment. Despite the chagrin of having a battle wound particularly on my face, I still think that in my case, scars are windows to the past, each of them recounting an interesting yet clumsy incident of their own. And most importantly, I still love dogs.