Nobody told me that dog walking was a contact sport. I had just put the puppy Sophie down this morning at the dog park when Finnigan the retriever throttled toward me smashing his big stupid black head into my mouth. I suppose it could have been worse. If his blow had landed a couple of inches higher, he would have broken my nose. For now, I have a sore tooth and an upper lip that looks like hamburger. Also a split lower lip. I won't be needing stitches but I may have to eat my turkey dinner through a straw. Merry Christmas Eve, ho, ho, ho. This isn't my first time at the Christmas injury rodeo. Nope. Last year, I sprained my ankle falling over the late Hannah and spent New Year's day and the better part of a month with an ankle the size and consistency of a juicy pork hock. And one year, I spent New Year's Eve in the emergency after Fred Chartrand accidentally cut my eye with ticker tape at the Canadian Press New Year's Party. That injury lasted for fiv...
More than a million served!