I Fall Down and I Get Up Again

This fall involves an overly-friendly pit bull puppy and a stuffed pony purse.

I was walking behind the condos on my way down to the creek, carrying a gift for Katie. Katie, her baby sister, Izzie, and her parents, Scott and Tina, were waiting at the picnic table there to join us for a take-out supper. My path took me past a neighbor's 6 month old puppy who looks a lot like the dog that was in "The Little Rascals" movies.

He was on a heavy leash and chained to a post on the grass adjacent to a small patio. I bent down to pet him and suddenly he was whipping around me in happy circles. The leash wound tightly round my ankles - once, twice, three times - and I knew I was going down.

Falls, I've discovered, often seem to happen in slow-motion. You sense the loss of balance, try desperately to stay upright, and may or may not have a split-second to decide how and where to land. I know that I eyed the grass to make sure that I wouldn't be falling on concrete, and mentally tried to avoid whatever dog poop I figured must be down there.

In that sense, it was a successful descent. I went down on my tail bone and over on my side. Once I was sure that nothing was broken, I became aware that I must look like a roped calf. At least I was still holding onto the stuffed pony purse. In that moment the puppy decided that the pony was for him and tried to take it out of my hands.

That was the scene - me hog-tied at the ankles, lying on the grass and wrestling with a pit bull. Extremely embarrassed, I let out a little cry for "help!" At the same moment, Tina rushed up from the table, and the patio door slid open. The woman who owned the dog quickly unwrapped the leash and asked me repeatedly if I was OK. Yeah, I was OK, except for my pride. I was certain that the entire side of the condo had witnessed that ridiculous incident.

I continued walking down to the creek with Tina, who I'm sure I heard suppressing giggles. I handed the stuffed animal to Katie and apologized for the bit of slobber on the pony's nose.

So today I'm a bit sore but otherwise unscathed. However, there are the memories.

Had this happened when I was younger I probably would have thought it hysterical. I remember watching with fascination at the leash wrapping around my feet and realizing what was coming next and that I couldn't stop it. I hit the ground and wrestled my gift out of the dog's mouth and emerged victorious.

But all I could think about was how silly I must have looked.

When does that end? When do you stop wondering what other people are thinking?

Maybe we have an "image" of ourselves that is incompatible with falling down and being unable to get up. Maybe it feels too much like that TV commercial where the elderly woman announces that "I've fallen and I can't get up". I know that I'm not ready for a First Alert alarm yet but that's what that helplessness must feel like.

And that's really what that scene was about. I felt helpless and looked helpless and that doesn't sit well with my self-image. Oh, I can laugh at myself in other humorous situations but that moment felt like a dramatically unwelcome vision into a potential future.

The good news is that I'm OK and that I'm always OK, if I choose to look at it that way. There's no question that we're all aging, and usually I don't think about it. There may come a day, sooner or later, when I won't be so lucky if I find myself hog-tied and headed for the ground, so I'll try to avoid that particular set of circumstances.

But now I'm watching Katie soar on the rope swing that Scott hung from the big tree. Her face is luminous and her excitement tangible. That life energy is what I identify with. That's who I am - regardless of what other people are seeing.