Two Races and a Dog Bite
… Not necessarily in that order
In the film “Four Weddings and a Funeral,” the funeral actually came after wedding number three. But “Three Weddings, a Funeral, and Another Wedding” doesn’t flow. My friend modeled his title proposal on that of the well-known movie because “A Dog Bite and Two Races” doesn’t flow.
Forget flow. Let’s stick with the facts, which tell a more interesting tale.
Fact #1: A dog bit me as I was jogging to the site of race #1.
Fact #2: Against medical advice I went ahead with the race, after which I “won” a medal for “first place” in my age group of one. (Actually, there were two others, but they walked, so they don’t count.)
Fact #3: I proceeded to run race #2 that afternoon as planned, after which I “won” a medal for … (Ditto the rest of the above).
As to the dog bite, it was the best dog bite I ever had. It wasn’t personal, not like the bites by my granddog. (These are incurred whenever I unwisely attempt to take him on a “business trip” whilst he’s insistent on a protracted lunch hour nap.)
I am aware that the phrase “best dog bite” seems an affectation. Why not simply say “it wasn’t the worst …?”
I chose my words in order to emphasize that what ensued after the dog bit me was so wonderful, that — even before I got my first “first” medal of the day, even before the wound stopped bleeding, even before I got the tetanus shot — I would not have chosen to have been un-bitten.
The dog that bit me was on a leash held by a woman who turned out to be the owner’s mother. The owner froze — then sprinted across the street and disappeared around the corner.
Minutes later, she returned, breathlessly brandishing bandages and waving a Rabies vaccination certificate. She, Amy, trailed me all day, offering to run the race in my place (!), and insisting on taking me to the hospital — which I declined so as not to miss out on race #2, to which she insisted on driving me.
Later that evening, and several times over the following week, Amy called to inquire how I was and offered to cover co-payments for my treatment. (There were none.)
About a month thereafter, Amy emailed, suggesting we get together for lunch. I said I’d be delighted. The Thai place we planned on was closed, so we headed to the Japanese restaurant next door. Amy treated me to a leisurely feast — we shared a sumptuous seafood soup and an abundant platter of vegetable tempura.
After lunch, we took a lovely walk around the lake. I say “lovely” not by way of rote remark, but because — -at long last — -I appreciated the spectacular florals of the surrounds. After all these years of frantically racing around the lake, it took Amy’s company to make me see the splendid grounds I’d thoughtlessly overlooked.
Our next stop was a Pan-Asian market, wherein Amy hoped to find her favorite brand of Chinese tea. Alas, she had to settle on another of the 28 varieties on offer.
The square-footage of the noodle section rivaled that of the ground floor of my house. The varieties on display ranged in diameter from half a hair to half an inch.
After an hour’s indulgence in veggie eye-candy and aromatic fruits, we headed to the check-out, where Amy insisted on paying for my groceries. To my dismay, she tossed in a box of garishly garbed bean-paste sweets (which I pawned off on my befuddled host at a party two days thereafter).
The following day, I prepared a delectable stir-fry of Chinese eggplant, oyster mushrooms, and snow peas over Udon noodles, with Asian melon for dessert.
I wrote a card to Amy to thank her for lunch — and dinner — and to arrange another lunch date. I shall look forward to an upcoming enactment of “Take Two” — my treat this time.
Meantime, on the left side of my left knee there remains the faintest imprints of Schnauzer teeth. One would be hard-pressed to discern the marks, even were I to point them out. As for me, I happily strain to see that pleasant reminder of the day I made a delightful new friend.
Thanks to Chuck (my “Best Man”) for coming up with the clever title and urging me to write the story.
