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As is my custom, it’s time for my annual Easter Weekend post (read “Easter Weekend” and “Easter Weekend 2021” if you’d like to track the posts over time).  Easter Weekend is always doubly special for yours portly, as it marks the beginning of my Spring Break.

Unfortunately, on the first morning of my long-anticipated (and much-needed) break, a freak accident befell me.  My beloved dog, Murphy, and I were out walking.  I had some breakfast in the oven, and realized we needed to get back in the next five minutes.

Murphy—as bull terriers are wont to be—is very stubborn, especially when she picks up the scent of cats (or vermin).  I usually can get her to follow along with me if I tug her and start running; she will then trot along to keep up.

I began my usual tug-trot procedure, when Murphy suddenly turned a full ninety degrees and ran—at top speed!—directly into my right ankle.  I heard a crunch and collapsed to the ground.

Miraculously, I managed to hang onto her leash.  She’d seen a couple of cats darting by, and—without regard for her human—crippled me in her would-be pursuit.

Angry and wounded, but still not feeling the full effects, as my adrenaline was pumping, I attempted to drag her homeward.  She resisted, and slipped from her collar.  Murphy then resumed her chase of the poor felines.

I limped over to her—she had the cats scrambling up a porch post, fleeing for their nine lives—but before I could get the collar back on her, she darted across the highway after the cats (it may also have been another stray cat—we have a problem with them here), right as a Darlington County Sheriff’s deputy went rolling by.  In my limping, disheveled state, he must have taken pity on me.  If so, I thank him for not writing me a ticket for my dog being off-leash.

So I proceeded to limp across US-401 to my friend’s mother-in-law’s house, where Murphy was pursuing her quarry through her bushes.  She then trotted up onto the porch, and as I slowly climbed the steps, she trotted back out, looking at me as if to say, “Hey, dad, what’s up?”

Thus began our gimped walk home—and she still resisted.  We finally made it back to a burnt (but still edible!) breakfast.

I stuck to the full day of lessons I had that afternoon, literally dragging my foot from one house to the next (driving, fortunately, was not difficult).  I think I overdid it here, but $150 was on the line, and if I was going to end up at a doctor’s office, I’d need that much (at least) for whatever ungodly medical bills I might face.

As of the time of this writing (Good Friday!), I still have not been to a doctor to X-ray the foot, but a long night’s sleep really helped.  The foot is still swollen, though that’s gone done, and with the aid of a cane—yes, I am walking with a cane, care of a good neighbor—I can get around with minimal pain.  Thursday night it had gotten excruciating to walk around, but now I can bumble around the house without too much inconvenience.

So, now that I’ve regaled you with tales of my recent crippling, here’s what’s in store for Easter 2022:

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