Hitting Myself in the Face with a Car Door

One day not so long ago I was running some errands.  When I got back to the car I loaded something into the back seat.  I closed the door.  On my face.  I shot the door a look (as if it had voluntarily assaulted me), frowned and felt for the wound then laughed and thought to myself… “thank you mommy brain” and “at least it’s a good story.”

Embarrassing Dog Walk Story

One day not so long ago I was walking the dogs.  I think walking the dogs is one of my most impressive daily mommy feats because I tow along the stoller with Maisy in it and two excitable dogs all around my neighborhood.  Both hands are devoted to the stroller so the dogs are attached to my right wrist and forced to walk peaceably beside said stroller.  Ordinarily, this is a difficult, but manageable task, but throw any minor distraction into the mix and I’m a gonner. On this particular day some other neighborly walkers crossed my path with two dogs of their own.  My mutts immediately began their frantic tugging in their direction as I desperately and unsuccessfully tried, all too late, to cross to the other side of the street – in hopes of avoiding direct contact with the oncoming greeting of course.   The dogs wouldn’t have it and were powerfully steering all of their adrenaline into the stroller in hopes of reaching those dogs which, in turn, threatened to topple the stroller over and spill my tiny beloved across the pavement.  Since that tactic wasn’t producing the desired result they both flipped a 180 on me and bolted backwards then behind and around me.  My arm was ripped over my shoulder. I looked like a freakish ballerina with my body teetering dangerously all to one side; one arm splayed on top and over my head, one leg rooted impossibly to the ground as the other kicked up into the air, with my last limb, my other arm, gripping the stroller.  In short, I looked ridiculous.  These folks immediately saw my struggle, and paused on the sidewalk beckoning something like “it’s ok we’ll let you pass.”  Trouble is, passing wasn’t an option because my two little powerhouses only grow stronger as fellow canines get closer so it was cross the street or set them loose and hope for the best in order to preserve the life of my child.  I mustered any strength in me and somehow managed to messily get us most of the way across the street and past the threat.  When I had the dogs back in line and my breathing normalized I realized I hadn’t spoken a word to those people.  I had plenty of words flying around in my brain.

“Oh no, please don’t stop there that’ll just make it harder for me.”

“Oh my goodness I’m so sorry my dogs are so pysco.”

“I swear I normally have a better handle on these guys.”

“I look ridiculous don’t I?”

“Yeah this is crazy but a girl’s gotta get outside!”

Nope.  Instead I was completely rude and struggled past those nice people without a word. Thank you mommy brain.  I can only hope they mustered up some understanding and thought kind thoughts of this young, and clearly overwhelmed, mom instead of unleashing backstabbing remarks after I was out of ear shot.

Attacked by a 200 Pound Great Dane on a Shoot

I traveled out to a vineyard to photograph a lifestyle segment for BRAVA Magazine.  My editor and editor-to-be (the former was moving away) were both there.  The subject in question was the co-owner of the establishment.  Upon arriving, I parked in her driveway and walked past two giant, angry Great Danes.  I had a flicker of fear pass through me.  This is strange for a dog lover such as myself so I should have known then that something was off.  We started the shoot with some simple portraits of the lady on her porch and then my editor decided it would be cool to incorporate the dogs.  It was a few pictures into the scenes with the dogs that the younger Great Dane growled at me.  I wrote it off as him not being a fan of this mechanical contraption I was using.  Then, as I was flipping through the images on the back of my camera, that younger Great Dane mounted me like an attack bear from behind and started clawing and clubbing the back of my head with his oversized paws.  This was no gentle pat by any means and I had bloody scratches all over my scalp to prove it for weeks to come. My instinct, to shield my cameras from the blows.  Forget self preservation.  I’d call that mixed up priorities!  Thank you mommy brain.