"Are'nt you afraid of getting bit?" she asked with wide eyes. "Nope, never crosses my mind." I lied to the person I barely knew. Thinking about it I realized that it wasn't that big a lie, just not the whole truth, like so much of all our lives. Yes, I am afraid of getting bit, as witnessed by the almost superhuman quickness to get my hand out of the way of a lunging chihuahua. Yet at the same time I never think about it until the moment of truth. The reality is that if I brooded on it I would'nt be able to step into the groomer's ring so to speak. I maintain a blissful optimism that tells me that all my dogs love me and are just having a case if seperation jitters. If I were to anticipate a bite, then a bite would be forthcoming. A bit of zen allows me to be ready to jump without even being aware of the danger. The only real bite I've recieved was from a crazed peekapoo named Sydny, and even he had the good manners to warn me that he did not want to be picked up. He then went on to chew the nail off of my right index finger, no slashing bites for Sydney, noooooo, he munched and crunched while I dangled him off the floor.
That was a few years ago, and since I am flaunting my lack of scars, I am guaranteed to get shredded the next time I work. Yeah universal irony.
