Flight of the White Guy

I can't jump. I've never had that talent. As kid I couldn't even do basketball layup in gym class. What on earth was I thinking when I dove off the foot of the bed Sunday Morning?

Picture this if you will; It's 5:00am. The birds are up but no one else. I'm cozy under the covers in the middle of a wonderful dream (not sure about what), so wonderful a puddle of drool has formed on the sheet under my mouth. Now, I'm a pretty light sleeper, normally I hear the (Dog, cat, kids) before DaMom does. I felt the dog jump up on our bed at ~3:30.

So naturally when I was woken up by the dog having a seizure and DaMom yelling SCRAPPY!, my thought process wasn't entirely coherent. I heard the Dog thrashing about on the floor but my last memory was of him on our bed so I thought he might have just fallen over the foot board or he was hitting the foot board. I sprung up to the sitting position to find him but kept going when I didn't see him on the bed.

It must have been a sight that would have made Superman cringe. Me springing up, diving head first over the head board, sliding down the junk (storage bin, clothes basket, etc.) at the foot of the bed and face planting on the floor in front of the dog.

Why did I fly? The importance of getting to the dog quickly is twofold; First, he'll pee, a lot. It's best to make sure the floor is clear for easier clean up. Second, he can break stuff including himself. It's best to slide him away from hard objects and hold his head up so he doesn't hurt his head on the floor. The vet gets enough of our money with him, ER visits for broken bones caused by seizures are not required to keep them in business.

So how is everyone? He's fine, always is. Twenty minutes later he's a new dog ready to run. Me? I have some scratches on my arm and a couple of bruised ribs, can't imagine from what.

Like I said, I can't jump.
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