Bitten, Part 2

A month after I was attacked, the dog’s owner, Kathryn, appeared at my front door. I had thought it odd to not hear from her sooner—she is, after all, a very nice person. It turns out she didn’t know who her dog attacked. After another neighbor told her my story, she came bearing flowers and profuse apologies. I was grateful for her kindness. The night of the attack, the police didn’t interview me in the ER until after they had secured the dog and had conversations with the owner and Animal Control. The investigating officer told me that Kathryn would be charged criminally for what her dog had done and would have to go before a judge (for a fine, I presume). That bit of information surprised me, but I think Kathryn was even more surprised when she reported to the...

Dark Socks

It was 6:30 one morning in the new school year and kids were already out waiting on the bus. We saw the boys as we were taking our morning walk, two standing and talking on one side of the street and one by himself on the opposite side. My heart hurt for the one standing alone. “I hate Middle School,” I said to my husband, George. “Kids can be so cruel.” “I noticed the boys, as well,” George said, “but I was thinking something else.” I looked a question at him. “Dark socks,” he said. “Dark socks?” “With shorts,” he added. “Dark socks with shorts?” “It’ll get a guy left out every time.” Who knew? Something to add to the list of things I never learned in Junior High.